


The Next Chapter: Preparing for Baby

by pjstillnoon



Series: The Next Chapter [1]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Drama, Epic, Multi, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 114,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4570968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjstillnoon/pseuds/pjstillnoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up where the show left off. Mac and Will figure out the next stage of their life: preparing for a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mackenzie feels exhausted. She thought it was that her husband was in prison and Pruit was a giant douchebag and Charlie seemed to be losing the plot to satiate his new boss. She thought that it was because she was bearing the brunt of too much going on all at once, and too much stress. She’d been sleeping ok, her normal, and eating ok, her normal, so she couldn’t figure it out. And then her period was late and her breasts started to feel tender and she thought… but she couldn’t _possibly_ … But she is though. She’s pregnant. Seven weeks pregnant.

It’s difficult to believe but also kind of exciting and terrifying all at once. She wasn’t sure she wanted kids, and then when she started to think she might want them it was when she was with Will. And then she wasn’t with Will anymore. After that, she gave practically no thought to even getting married, let alone having kids, until she was once again State-side (Will-side). But she and Will have barely had a minute to breathe, let alone have a studious conversation about having a family. He surprised her one day shortly after they were engaged to suggest they start trying, and she had brushed him off, not taking it seriously, because they had time to figure it out later, after they were married. She got pregnant anyway.

Between the blocks, during the commercials, Will asks her in low tones if she’s all right. She assures him she is, but she can feel a nervous buzzing in her stomach, as she keeps intellectually reminding herself that she’s pregnant, while trying to focus on the show. When they go home, they need to talk about this baby thing. She didn’t see the way he beamed when she told him in the church, so she’s not sure if he’s excited about this, but when he dragged her outside to clarify, he also hadn’t said anything along the lines of ‘holy hell we can’t do this!’ So maybe it will be ok.

Still, they need to talk. This is his first night back on the air since he got out of prison. And they just buried his best friend today. Mackenzie suggested he take the rest of the week, but he insisted. He seems ok. No major dramas with the show. No meltdowns from anyone. After the broadcast ends Will comes into the control room. Mac’s talking to Herb, a debrief, as she usually does, any glitches or lack of smooth hand-offs (there’s really not much she has to complain about with the control room guys), so she doesn’t notice her husband until he’s calling to her. She turns her head and looks over her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go,” he encourages with a jerk of his head.

“Just a minute,” Mackenzie answers him and turns back to the head of the control room. She hears Will leave, but doesn’t torture him with having to wait for her. She wants to linger with the staff to commiserate over Charlie’s funeral and the loss of him; the building already feels different. But she also wants to go home with her husband. Since he got out of prison they’ve barely had the time to enjoy each other. Enjoy being married. And now she’s pregnant. Will’s been spending time with Nancy and Charlie’s family. And Mackenzie’s been keeping the newsroom together. It’s only been two days.

She finds him in his office, changed, ready to go, fidgeting with a lighter on the desk, letting it slide over and over through his fingers. But he’s not smoking. He seems lost in thought, staring at the wall, his back to the bullpen. Behind him, people are going home. He turns when she opens the door and someone calls out behind her to say goodnight. She waves them off and Will gets to his feet, looks at her expectantly. She comes in and lets the door swing shut on its own. “Will, about the baby.”

“Is everything all right?” He asks immediately, but also in a slightly detached way, like she’s come in to report that a story isn’t going well and they’re going to have to dump it from the rundown. A story he couldn’t care less about.

“Yes,” she says but stays standing by the door, folding her arms in front of her stomach. Not an escape. She’s just tired. She shakes the hair from her eyes and leans back on her heels a little as she looks over at him. “Do you want it?” She blurts. “I want it.”

Will comes around the desk quickly, practically runs. He looks worried. “Of course. Of course I want it,” he tells her gently, placing his hands on her elbows, looking her in the eye. “I’m– How can you? Thrilled Mackenzie, I’m thrilled.”

“You’re thrilled?” She asks, slightly dubiously.

“Yes!” He bends his knees slightly to meet her at her level and he looks so stonily genuine, earnest to the point of over enthusiasm that Mackenzie breaks into a smile.

“Thrilled,” she repeats softly.

“Thrilled,” Will echoes. “Thrilled!” He repeats louder. Mackenzie gives a slight laugh, relieved, but also feeling excited by his reaction. “It’s going to be amazing. You’re going to be an amazing mom and I will do my best to keep up,” he says self-depreciatingly and it makes her laugh again, because he’s silly. He’s going to be great at this himself. Will pulls her into a tight hug, right at his office door, and she sinks into him, putting her arms around his waist, breathing in the day-old smell of him; so familiar. “You’re tired,” he states.

“Hm,” she agrees.

“Let’s go home ok? I’ll make you something to eat and then you can explain to me who the father is.”

Mac pulls back and shoves at his stomach, a huff of displeasure.

“You’re right,” Will goes on, going to get his bag from his desktop. “That doesn’t matter. I’m putting my name on the birth certificate.”

Mac actually laughs as they head out, the bullpen empty now. Somehow, they went from ‘I hate you, you cheated on me’ to ‘hah, you cheated six years ago, the kid probably isn’t even mine’, like it’s a very old joke.

It is a very old joke.

 

**********

 

When Will was in prison, Mac felt like an Army wife; married, but with no husband in sight. A marital home to keep, with only her in it. She finished the renovations on her own (not as easy as she thought, given she couldn’t, and didn’t, check in with Will about what he wanted, and so made all the rest of the decisions herself), organised to have all their things moved in, and practically unpacked by herself. Mostly, she left the furniture where the moving guys had put it and opened the boxes she needed (clothes, coffee maker, mugs, bathroom, linens). The first night Will came home was actually the next morning. They went from the prison to see Charlie’s family and crashed hard in the early hours. So when they come home tonight Will trips over a box still in the entranceway and curses, “We need to get all of this unpacked. Yesterday,” he adds tightly, highlighting his apparent frustration, hanging his keys on the hook by the front door.

“Well I was a little _busy_ ,” Mac defends herself. “In the last fifty-three days,” she tries to count the days quickly, might have gotten it wrong, picks a number that has got to be close enough. It feels like longer than a month and a half. She kicks off her shoes.

“I know,” Will says gently.  He sighs. “I wasn’t–”

“Growing life,” Mac finishes, hanging her own keys.

Will blinks at her. “You’re going to use that as an excuse for–”

“Yes,” Mac answers haughtily, removing her jacket.

“Let’s eat,” Will changes the subject. He takes her jacket and catches it on a hook, then guides her into the kitchen. He sits her on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and goes to the fridge. It’s practically bare, because while Mac let slide the moving in, she also let slide buying food.

Will glances over his shoulder at her and shrugs it off; he’s not too worried about the state of the refrigerator. He’s just happy to be home with her now. “From now on, I’ll make sure there’s food in the fridge,” he says. 

Mac gives him a smile over the breakfast bar; sweet man. Will reaches in and finds eggs (where did they come from?) and soft rind cheese. “Wait,” Mac stops him. “I can’t eat that.”

Will stops in the middle of the kitchen floor and looks bewildered.

“The cheese. It’s cured with mould.”

“And that’s now allowed–?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” Mac finishes with a nod.

“I assume that’s because of a risk of miscarriage?” Will puts the eggs on the bench. The fridge door swings shut on its own behind him.

“Yeah,” Mackenzie nods.

“Is there anything else I should be aware of?” He asks carefully.

“Raw eggs,” Mac searches her memory. “Raw meats. Deli meats that have been cured. And for some reason, hummus.”

“Hummus,” Will repeats.

“Well, the tahini in the hummus.”

Will goes back to the fridge. “Ok, what about this cheese?” He holds up a block of hard cheddar.

Mac nods. “Yes. That’s fine. I can eat that.”

He’s not a great cook, and neither is she, but he manages to put together scrambled eggs (he tried for an omelette, but that didn’t quite work out) and Mac finds herself hungry and eager and eats what she’s given with compliment. Will sits next to her on the next stool, close, so when she raises her fork to her mouth, her elbow brushes against his arm. He puts his left hand onto her thigh, curls his fingers around her flesh. She reaches over with her left hand to meet his and links their fingers, feels the hard edge of his wedding band against her bones. They talk about work.

When Mac finishes first, she presses a kiss to her husband’s cheek with thanks, and slides from the stool. She stacks the dishwasher (Will tries to get her to leave them but she waves him off. She’s pregnant, not recovering from surgery), rinsing out the pan first, and puts the cheese back in the fridge. There’s other food in there, two apples, milk, coffee, jam and butter. She doesn’t remember going to buy those items but at least she knows she can have breakfast the next day. With Will. Alone. And this may sound fantastically selfish, but she’s glad Charlie’s funeral is done with, because now she gets her husband back. She totally gets what Charlie meant to Will. And she totally gets him wanting to spend time with Nancy, and helping where he can, but he just got out of prison. And she’s missed him.

Mackenzie closes the refrigerator door and turns to her husband. He’s picking at the last of his eggs with his fork, stabbing at them. “I want Charlie as a middle name,” she says.

Will looks up at her. “For yourself?”

“For the baby. If it’s a boy, Charles, and if it’s a girl…” She hesitates. “Some girl version of Charlie.”

“Charlene?” Will supplies, putting his plate and fork down.

Mac steps forward and holds out her hand to take it. But she screws up her nose at the name. “Something else.”

“Charlotte?” Will tries again, swallowing down the last of his eggs.

“Hm,” Mac considers, rinsing his plate and then putting it into the still mostly empty dishwasher.

“We could just use Charlie for either,” Will suggests. He gives a shrug. “It could be interchangeable.”

“All right,” Mac agrees.

“Easy.”

Mac straightens and shakes the hair from her eyes. “Still have to come up with a first name,” she challenges lightly.

Will purses his lips. “Rose–”

“No,” Mac quickly interjects. “No flowers. I’m going to put that out there right now.”

“Why don’t you just tell me the names you’ve had picked out since you were five?”

Mac smirks at him and leans forward on the bench. “I haven’t _had_ names picked out since I was _five_.” He gives her a slight grin. She straightens up again. “I came up with the middle name, so you have to pick the first name.” She walks out of the kitchen. “But I retain the right to veto!”

“You vetoed my first suggestion!” Will calls after her.

Mac heads for the bedroom and the walk-in closet they had built. Will catches her up as she starts stripping off to change for bed. Not that she’s going to bed right now, just getting ready. Just going to get out of her funeral clothes. “Is it too soon to talk about this?” Will asks her, leaning against the doorframe.

“Talk about what?” She asks stepping out of her skirt.

“Names?”

Mackenzie looks over at him from the rail, where she’s hanging the item of clothing. “I don’t know. I haven’t done this before.”

“Obviously–”

“We also weren’t supposed to _tell_ _anyone_ we were even _having_ a baby until the second trimester, but that didn’t work out very well,” Mackenzie adds, hooking the hangar with her skirt onto the rail. She brushes a hand down it, straightening out a wrinkle, checking to see if its serious enough to need pressing.

“Yeah well,” Will starts to say but gets distracted when Mac pulls her shirt off over her head. She tosses the clothing into the laundry basket in the corner and finds him staring. She saunters towards him in her underwear and laces her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into the soft hair at the base of his skull, and dips his head so she can kiss him, without having to reach up on the balls of her feet. He gives a soft moan as Mac presses her body flush against his and his hands rest at her waist. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs against her mouth, making her hum and kiss him again. He takes a tentative step backwards and when Mac goes with him he takes more, until he reaches the bed. He turns her, guides her to sit on the mattress, then climbs into her lap. Except, he’s too big, and ends up pushing her so she’s flat against the cover, laughing slightly as they kiss again.

Mac works her fingers under the t-shirt he’s wearing to scratch lightly against his skin and she’s rewarded with another growl and an increase in intensity of his mouth against hers. She tugs the shirt up to his shoulders, encouraging him to take it off. He sits back on his haunches to do so, throwing the material to the side of the room. When he drops back against her he kisses her neck, trails down her chest, nudges his nose into her soft breast, preparing to place a kiss there as well. Mac squirms beneath him, but not in a good way. He pulls back, questions in his eyes. “Sensitive,” Mac tells him but places her hands on his cheeks to bring him down to kiss her again.

He resists. “Sensitive?”

“My breasts are sensitive right now,” Mac explains, again, trying to kiss him. Will’s not satisfied with that answer. “Because of the pregnancy,” Mac tries again. “Hormones and things.” That puts Will off completely. He shifts to the bed beside her and she gives him a frown.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“Huh?” She gives him disbelief as she pushes up on her elbows. She glances at his groin.

“No, I can – Not – The –” He gestures at her. “You’re pregnant.”

“I know. Did it just occur to you?”

“There’s a baby.”

“The baby’s not trying to have sex with you,” Mac says indignantly.

“That made it worse,” Will gives her a mildly disgusted expression. “It’s in there. It’s, you know, that’s its space.” He mimes out a dome with his hands.

“Honey, you’re well endowed,” she tells him patronisingly. “But you’re not going to get near it. I promise you.”

Will gives her an unimpressed roll of his eyes and gets off the bed. “I don’t mean that. I–”

“What do you mean?” Mac gives him a ‘what the fuck?’ expression.

“What if something happens to it?” Will almost winces as he stands over her.

“Nothing’s going to happen to it,” Mac tells him, reaching out with a leg to slide a foot into the back of his knee, trying to nudge him closer to her. “Promise. It’s all protected in there.” Will’s knee caves and he stumbles to kneel on the edge of the mattress. Mackenzie reaches with a hand, placing it on his jaw, tilting his head to kiss him. He lets her, so she shifts closer, until bare skin meets bare skin. Will turns his head away. Mac gives an irritated groan. “Sex is good for its _mother_. It’s your duty.”

“Duty?” Will scoffs.

“Yes duty,” Mac tells him unashamedly.

“I don’t remember hearing that in my wedding vows.”

“It was in the marriage license,” Mac tries. “Small print. Should have read it.” Will’s expression doesn’t change. They stare each other down for a moment. “Fine,” she grumps loudly. “Is this a total ban on all sexually related fun? Can we at least do other stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Will replies, as if it is a given. Just like he reacted when Mac asked him if he remembered the night they conceived their baby.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos :)

Mac half wakes when it feels like Will gets out of bed. She drifts in and out of sleep for longer than she means to, but she’s comfortable and warm where she is, and she’s not aware that she needs the bathroom, and she’s denying the fact that she has to get out of bed at some point, probably soon, to get ready for work. She’s already woken in the dead of the night to go to the loo, and now that she thinks about it, that’s been happening fairly frequently for the last month or so. Then she realises she _does_ need to pee so badly she’s not sure she’ll make it to the bathroom in time. While she’s sitting there, naked, she realises she feels distinctly gross. Nauseated, not to the point of actually being sick, but certainly a heavy churning of her stomach that has her attention. It makes her clench her jaw tightly shut and try to think about other things. She has a quick shower, colder than usual. After she dresses for the day, in the loosest bra she can find (it’s like putting her breasts into a vice) she goes to find her watch. It’s after nine. It surprises her. She _has_ been tired, but wow, she didn’t think she had slept _that_ long. They’re running the risk of being late for work.

She quickly straightens out the bed, finds a mix of her and her husband’s underwear tangled up in the sheets and dumps it in the laundry basket in the walk-in. Then she goes to see if her husband is around. She finds him on the first try, in the kitchen. She misses the stack of books on the coffee table as she goes by the living room. Will is sitting at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee and reading. “McAvoy!” She loudly calls to him as she goes in.

“Geeze!” Will complains and visibly jumps.

“Were you going to wake me this morning?” She goes to the cupboard.

“You seemed tired.”

“Hm, I am tired,” Mac gets a mug down and goes to the coffee pot.

“And didn’t you – Hey!” Will raises his voice in alarm.

Mac turns to him slowly, a ‘what the hell’ expression.

“You’re not allowed coffee,” Will blurts, like he’s threatening to tell the teacher on her.

Mac puts the mug on the bench. “Since when?” She enquires politely.

“Since– You know, the baby,” Will says, flustered, like he’s just discovered a bomb. “It’s not good for the baby.”

“I’m allowed _some_ coffee,” Mac tells him slowly, turning back to the coffee pot. She says ‘half a cup’ at the same time Will says ‘two hundred milligrams’. Mac turns back to him, pot in hand, suspicious. “What are you reading?” She asks lightly.

“Just, something,” Will shrugs at her, shoulders and mouth; dismissive.

“Uh huh. Is it ‘Mommy’s guide to pregnancy’?”

“No,” Will tells her with false triumph. He flips the cover. It’s _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_. Mac gives him a smile. “I don’t know anything about pregnancy,” Will defends himself. Mac pours the coffee. “I didn’t spend any time with either of my sisters when they were having kids,” Will goes on.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mac tells him innocently, returning the coffee to the machine.

“I hardly spend any time with my nieces and nephews,” Will continues.

“That doesn’t matter,” Mac interjects, facing him again. “Neither do I. We’ll figure it out.” She sips her drink and looks at him over the rim of the mug. Will doesn’t say anything, just watches her in return. “It’ll be fine,” Mac tells him with confidence, stepping forward and shaking the hair from her eyes. “We’ll do it together and it will be great!” She gives a fist pump to emphasise her enthusiasm. “Team McAvoy!”

Will gives an unhappily conceding expression and runs a thumb over the pages of the book in his hands. When she says it, he believes her. “I got you some… things,” he gestures to the bench where there are five large white bottles of dietary supplements.

“Things?” Mac asks lightly, looking over at them.

“Prenatal vitamins,” Will says knowingly. “They’re good for the baby. Birth defects,” he waves his hand and gives an unhappy turn of his mouth. “Help prevents defects.”

“Yes, I know what they’re for –”

“You’re supposed to have been taking them months ago.”

“Yes,” she says slowly. She frowns and looks over at him. “But then…”

Will meets her eye. “Yeah,” he says. They weren’t going to try yet. “How does that happen?”

Mackenzie gives a shrug, looks at him from a slight dip of her head.

“I thought you were on –”

“I was. Am. Was,” Mackenzie corrects. “It’s not a hundred percent.”

“Right,” Will agrees with a nod. “It doesn’t matter though.”

It sounds a bit like a question. But it’s not. It doesn’t matter now.

“You went out this morning?” Mackenzie changes the subject. Will raises his eyebrows at her. Mackenzie nudges the pre-nantals with her fingers. What worries Mackenzie is that the baby wasn’t getting the right nutrients before now. She can ask her doctor when she goes for her appointment.

“You should take some,” Will suggests.

“Later,” she says, because she feels that swallowing anything more than liquid might be a challenge right now. “What other things did you get?”

Will gives a shrug of his mouth. “Just some things.”

“Show me the things Billy,” Mackenzie demands firmly.

He slides off his stool and goes to the living room, she follows. She didn’t just miss a stack of books on the coffee table. There’s a bag of diapers, a bag from a baby clothing store, baby wipes, lotion.

“You went out and got all these things this morning?” She asks him lightly, amazed, and surprised, but not in a good way.

Will pouts at her. “You were sleeping and I –”

“Might be nice to do these things together,” Mackenzie suggests carefully. She looks over at him and sees his eyes dart down, a slight crease forming in his forehead. “Might be nice to have just one bottle of pre-natals.”

“Well I didn’t know which ones you’d prefer –”

“So you got all of them?” She finishes for him.

Will sighs. “We need to take this baby thing seriously.”

“I _am_ taking it _seriously_!” Mackenzie exclaims, amused. “I resent the accusation.”

“It wasn’t –”

“It hasn’t even had a chance to sink in yet,” she doesn’t let him finish. “And you’re already buying clothes?” She goes to the clothing bag and has a look inside, pulls out a pink onesie about a million sizes too big for a new born (maybe. To be fair, she’s not sure what size a new born is. It’s been a while since she’s gone new niece/nephew shopping). She feels a pang in her stomach, equal parts her husband excluding her, and that she’s having a baby. “We don’t even know if it’s a girl.” She turns to him.

“We’re already behind on important things,” Will tries, crossing his arms over his chest; defensive.

“Like books?” She asks, gesturing at the coffee table with its new library. “OK I’ll give you that one. But Billy,” she turns to him again. “You’re not going to race ahead and book pre-school without talking to me about it first right?”

“I can’t believe you’re not freaking out right now,” Will tells her, throwing his arms out in a wide gesture. “We’re having a baby. A _baby_. That’s– Someone’s got to –”

“I know!” Mac tells him with a smile. She drops the onesie and goes to stand in front of him, placing her arms around his neck, looking up at him and shaking the hair from her eyes. Will reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. “That’s exciting. But you’ve got to ease up a little. You don’t have to do everything today. Or tomorrow. We’ve got time.”

 “Aren’t you scared?”

“Yes,” she laughs. “Yes I’m scared. I’m worried about my age, and how having a baby is going to work with my new job, how Pruit’s going to take it,” she rolls her eyes, seemingly jovial, but Will sees doubt in her eyes now that he realises she’s been holding in. “I’m terrified,” Mackenzie goes on seriously, “But I’m holding it together because you’re freaking out right now and I don’t think we should both do it at the same time. I’m pretty sure the known universe will explode.”

Will manages a hint of a smile.

“Do you want the baby?”

“Yes,” Will answers immediately.

“Because, we can have a conversation about _not_ having the baby, if that’s something you want to consider,” she squints at him a little, pretty sure already of the answer, but willing to ask all the same.

Will is immediately alarmed. “Of course I want the baby!” He tells her forcefully. “I wasn’t suggesting– That’s not an option for me – unless you – Thrilled, remember? Seriously. Thrilled. Unless you?”

Mac shakes her head. “All right then. We’ll figure it out,” she says resolutely. “Together,” she adds pointedly. “You can’t –”

“All right, no more shopping without you.”

“Thank you,” Mackenzie says. “And?”

“I won’t book a preschool without us having a conversation about it first.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Am I basically not allowed to do anything baby related without you?”

“I think that’s fair,” Mackenzie says airily.

Will nods and purses his lips but he does seem much more visibly relaxed than he did a moment ago and Mackenzie congratulates herself on diffusing the situation. For calming her husband down and reassuring him, and for not letting herself lose it over his actions either. “You know I love shopping.”

Will gives a half laugh, more of a snort, like he finds it amusing, but also doesn’t want to admit that. “It’s the size of a raspberry,” he tells her gently.

“Huh?” Mac gives him the ‘what the?” expression.

“The baby. It’s the size of a raspberry.”

“That, I _didn’t_ know,” Mackenzie tells him conversationally. “That book has already come in handy.” Will rolls his eyes at her and steps away. She goes back to the kitchen and reaches for her coffee cup. To be honest, she’s not enjoying it. She still feels nauseous. Actually, she might feel worse than she did before.

“You ok?” Will asks her suddenly. “You’ve gone pale.”

“I’m fine,” she tries, but speaking, opening her throat, reminds her that actually, she doesn’t feel fine.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Will queries carefully, hovering by her elbow. He knows she’s not telling the truth. Mac shakes her head. “Everything all right?” He asks again. “If we’re going to do this we need–”

Mac shakes the hair from her eyes again and looks up at him. “I don’t feel well,” she admits.

Will’s immediately concerned, dipping his head to meet her eyes. “Like you’ve got the flu not well?” He puts his palm on her forehead.

“As in,” Mac starts patiently. “I’m pregnant and feeling nauseated, not well.” She ducks away from him. She shouldn’t have, the sudden movement makes her feel worse for a second, dizzy. She grips the edge of the breakfast bar to steady herself.

Will is immediately attentive, hovering, a hand at her back. “Can I get you anything?”

Mac shakes her head and takes a few deep breathes. The dizziness subsides. She’s not sure what happened. She was fine a minute ago.

“Maybe you should lay off the coffee,” he takes her cup away and she pouts at his back. He gets her a glass of water instead, tells her to sit. She complies, sips at the water, isn’t sure she feels better, but at least doesn’t feel worse. Will goes to the fridge, to get what Mac assumes is breakfast food. She reaches for the book he was reading, already feathered with post-it notes and flips it to the last marked page, to the seven week stage.

_This week, your baby is the size of a raspberry._

She shuts the book quickly, her heart racing, Will turns away from the fridge with butter and jam, and there’s something foreign inside her the size of a _raspberry_. She can’t feel it, but intellectually she knows it’s there. Her body isn’t entirely her own anymore and strange things are happening and will continue to happen for at least another seven months. It’s surreal.

“You’re great with your nieces and nephews,” Will starts talking as he unties the bread bag on the bench. “ _And_ my nieces and nephews.”

Mac manages a small laugh. “You’re going to be good at this, too, Billy,” she states.

“You don’t know that. I might be terrible.”

Mac doesn’t mean to concede on that point, and she doesn’t think he’s being serious anyway, but she gives a ‘hm’ response because the nausea rolls through her stomach in a wave and she doesn’t trust herself to open her mouth. And then she just slides from the stool to rush to the bathroom anyway. She throws up what little of the coffee she drank a moment ago, plus something that looks horrifically like last night’s dinner. But after she’s ill she feels marginally better. At least, the immediate threat passes and she eases into a mild queasiness. Will’s at the bathroom door, hovering, with her toothbrush. Mac takes it gratefully, inspects her reflection in the guest bathroom mirror as she brushes her teeth. She looks a little grey and she feels clammy.

“Guess that’s the morning sickness,” Mac tells Will’s reflection, which is standing, waiting for her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

After Mackenzie’s sick, she gets quiet. They ride to work mostly in silence and she walks through security in the AWM building with a nod of greeting to one of the guys she recognizes. Will follows along behind her, close and protective, and when they get in the elevator, it’s mercifully empty. They reach for each other’s hand at the same time, just as the doors slide closed. Mackenzie leans against the back wall as Will pushes the button to take them up. She closes her eyes as they start to move, realising she has a slight headache and that the motion of the elevator is somewhat soothing (thank god it’s not nauseating). “Are you ok?” Will asks, _again._

“No,” Mackenzie grumbles. She still feels ill and she’s wondering at her capacity to get through this day. It’s her last day as the Executive Producer of _News Night_ and she didn’t think she would be leaving because Charlie died and she was taking over his job.

The elevator ride is short and she straightens up as the doors ping open. Will waits for her to go first, ever the gentleman, so she tugs him along behind her by the hand. They walk into the bullpen where most of their staff have already started work for the day; a handful, who got the late shift, will be in later. Mackenzie starts towards their offices, managing to say hello to those who greet her. Her stomach churns and she eyeballs the distance to the nearest bathroom (which, on second thought, is actually Will’s).

At Will’s office, he pulls his hand free and peels off. Mackenzie goes on to her own. Jim’s walking out of it. She gives him raised eyebrows. “Oh, I was just – there’s the copy of the charges against Snowden.”

“What were they again?” Mac asks, slipping around him to get into the room. Her protégé follows her in.

“Theft, unauthorized communication of national defence information, and wilful communication of classified communications intelligence information to an unauthorized person,” he reels off.

“That sounds serious,” Mackenzie notes as she walks around her desk. “That’s under the Espionage Act?” She pulls out her chair to sit but puts her bag on it instead and listens to Jim.

“Yep,” Jim confirms.

“Ok, well, decide what you want to do with it.”

“All right,” Jim agrees, with a nod. He hesitates and Mac raises her eyebrows at him, inviting him to go on. “You look awful,” he states bluntly.

“Thank you.”

“I just mean. Are you sick or something? Did you sleep ok?”

“I’m _pregnant_ Jim, no I didn’t sleep _ok_. I have to _pee_ every three hours and right now I feel like I might throw _up_ the breakfast I barely got down in the first place.”

Jim gives her a startled reaction; deer in the headlights. Too much information. “You’re pregnant?”

Mac gives him a pained expression. “I thought you knew? I thought everyone _knew_.”

“There were rumours,” Jim says dismissively.

“Jim, you know I love that you don’t listen to unfounded gossip, but sometimes, and I mean this, you should listen to the rumours a little bit. You’d be surprised by what you might learn about the people around you.”

Jim gives a nod. “Ok,” he agrees, like it’s the most sage advice he’s received, but also, possibly, the most odd. “I kind of figured it would be double confirmation territory. Pitch meeting fifteen?”

“Yep,” Mac gives a short nod and finally sinks into her chair. Then she has to dig her bag out from underneath her.

“Uh, Mac?” Jim pokes his head back into her office.

“Yeah?” She looks up, wary.

“Congratulations.”

She gives a slight smile. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

““Everyone already knows,” Jim tells her.

“I know,” she says resignedly. He goes to leave again and she calls him back. “Do I really look _awful_?”

“No,” Jim lies badly. Always has been a terrible liar. “You look great.” And completely awkward with compliments. “Hey, if you need help packing,” he looks around her office pointedly. She hasn’t touched a thing.

“Yep,” Mackenzie responds shortly. She doesn’t want to pack.

 

**********

 

Will pushes into his office, drops his case on his desk and takes stock, his hands on his hips. His office smells faintly of stale cigarettes and he practically salivates with wanting one. But he’s thrown them all, and his ashtrays, out.

“Jenna!” He yells as he walks around his desk. She comes in a second later, like maybe she was already on her way. She gives him the morning memo, gives him a brief rundown of what’s in it. “Yeah,” Will cuts her off. “Can you get me some air freshener or something? Not pine, I don’t want to smell a forest, but something– Lemon will be fine.”

She gives him an unsure look, but it passes quickly. She’s getting used to his odd requests. “Ok,” she agrees. “And I’ve got that list of hospitals,” she holds it out to him. He takes it. She gives him another piece of paper. “And OB/GYNs. The ones highlighted in yellow are the ones that are actually working in America. And the ones in pink are actually in New York.”

Will takes that paper too, but it’s more of a snatch, because he suspects Jenna is being facetious. She bows out of his office.

Usually, the first thing he does in the morning is go to see Charlie (and lament about Mackenzie), but of course, he can’t do that now. Instead, he finds himself standing listlessly by his desk.

Will picks up the phone, dials his doctor’s number and asks to make an appointment. As soon as possible. He’s going to get every test for cancer and any other life threatening illness he can get. Once that’s done he fast forwards his day by an hour or so. He starts clearing mail from his inbox, glances through the news alerts that come to his phone. Snowden’s been charged under the Espionage Act (which if it weren’t so close to home, Will might care more about). That will probably go in the C block. He suddenly thinks of a sublimely awesome turn of phrase for that announcement, and jots it on a yellow legal pad before he forgets, so he can work it into tonight’s copy.

From his desk, he can see Jim walking away from Mackenzie’s office. He thinks about going in there, to check up on her, realises that would be a colossal mistake. He’s already wound her up the wall this morning by asking if she’s ok (and his apparent faux pas in buying too many baby things already). But he doesn’t _know_ she’s ok (because looking at her, that would seem to suggest she is not), so he has to ask. He picks up his blackberry, but texts her instead.

**How annoyed are you going**

**to be if I ask you how you’re feeling?**

 

Her reply is delayed by only a few seconds. She can type almost as fast as she can talk.

 

**Unbelievably annoyed. How dare**

**you ask your pregnant wife if she**

**feels like her stomach is in her throat.**

That might be a joke. Or she might – no, that had to be a joke. That’s good. That’s a positive response in regards to his inquiry. His phone pings again.

 

**I’m two doors away from you.**

**Are you too lazy to walk in here**

**and ask how I am?**

Outside Will’s office door Jim calls out across the bullpen. He doesn’t catch what the younger man says though. He texts her back.

 

**I thought you’d be busy and my hovering**

**presence would irritate you.**

 

Will just sits there, waiting for her reply. He feels listless and distracted. His wife is pregnant and they’re having a baby, and she’s pregnant. He wants to take her home again and put her in bed and make sure she doesn’t leave.

 

**Good decision.**

 

That’s it. That’s all he gets. He sees her leave her office with her folder gripped in her hands, armed for the first pitch meeting. He does think about following her. It’s not entirely uncommon for him to sit in on the pitch meeting. But he thinks better of it. He doesn’t want to push his luck. Instead, what he can do to satiate his nerves, is finish reading the pregnancy book.

 

**********

****

Mackenzie sits in on the pitch meeting, but she lets Jim run it, and doesn’t need to offer her two cents worth because he’s worked under her for so long now that he practically is her, but male. And younger. He’s got it under control and she’s proud of him, and all the rest of them too, and this thing that she’s created with Will. Which makes her think about the other thing she’s created with Will, which makes her stomach squirm with nerves. By about lunch time she doesn’t hardly feel ill at all, which is great, and she eats a sandwich from the deli down the street; cheese, because that seemed easier than trying to list off the things she’s suddenly supposed to avoid consuming. While she eats she skims through the broadsheets, seeing what’s happening in the world, in New York, and more importantly, what other people are reporting.

Will stays quiet, and in his office, for a few hours. She knows it’s because he doesn’t want to be overbearing, that he’s fretting, but doesn’t want to piss her off too badly (especially after this morning), so she helps him out.

 

**Just wanted to let you know I**

**feel much better and I even ate lunch.**

There’s a tap on her open office door and Sloan comes in, dressed in designer black. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mackenzie replies.

Sloan takes a seat opposite the desk and Mackenzie waits for it. “Last day huh?”

“Yep,” she agrees, leaning back in her chair.

“I’m going to miss you,” Sloan says. “Popping in for girl talk.”

“We’ve hardly ever done that.”

“Yeah but we could.”

“I’ll be upstairs, you can come up and visit me.”

“Yeah ok. We can talk about…” Sloan stops and looks at her, her face straight.

Mackenzie blinks, waiting for her to go on, but she doesn’t. “Girl things,” she suggests.

“Yes,” Sloan agrees. “Boys.”

“Boys,” Mackenzie nods. “Yes.”

“Or your husband.”

Mac narrows her eyes slightly. “Probably shouldn’t. Seeing as– You know how Will is with personal stuff.”

“And how bad you are at keeping it,” Sloan adds.

“That’s– One time!”

Mac’s phone buzzes on the desk.

“You probably need to get that,” Sloan spots her escape and goes for the door. “Maybe we could go for a drink sometime? Or, I guess you can’t drink anymore.” She stops, holding on to the door frame. She seems lost.

“Not for a while,” Mackenzie agrees, ignoring her blackberry for now.

“How about coffee?”

“I can’t do coffee either,” she says with a slight wince.

“Oh.”

“Juice bar!” Mackenzie supplies brightly. “We’ll get something ridiculously healthy. Full of nutrition!”

“Kale and raspberries,” Sloan suggests.

“Not raspberries!” Mac says alarmed.

Sloan startles. “Kiwi?”

“Yeah,” Mac nods. “That’s better.”

“Ok. Well, see you around.” Sloan walks out of her office. Then she comes straight back in. “You know, you should really start packing.” She looks around. “If you’re moving out today.”

“I know,” Mackenzie says nonchalantly, avoiding the other woman’s eye and picking up her phone. She doesn’t want to pack. The thought of doing it is tiring. It took her forever to move in. The text is from Will.

 

**Great! I’m glad. I’m really glad.**

Mackenzie smiles and texts him:

 

**Love you.**

He texts it right on back.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Will sits in on the run down meeting that afternoon, so he knows what’s been confirmed for the broadcast and can start writing his copy, and Mac sits in the back with him, against the wall, so that she’s slightly behind him and can observe the room, but mostly him. He has a pen in his hand and turns it, over and over, letting it slide through his fingers to the table top, before tapping it, then turning it over and doing it again. Mackenzie wonders if that’s a nervous habit, but she doesn’t remember seeing it before. And if he’s just started doing it… has it suddenly appeared because of the baby? She gets that it’s scary, the idea of having a child, and that it’s still sinking in (it is for her too), but she doesn’t think she can go through the rest of the pregnancy trying to keep him from losing it too (or enrolling their unborn baby in college, or something). She’s not sure what to do about it, yet. Hopefully he’ll come to his own conclusion of reasonableness, like he usually does.

Will niggles at everyone in the room (which is another indicator that he’s stressed. Or has something on his mind). It’s just little comments here and there, but it sets them on edge, Mackenzie can see. She doesn’t intervene, however. They’ll have to learn to deal with him without her around, and if they’ve learned anything from her in the last three years it should be how to handle Will. She hopes, anyway. And also, that he’s not as scary as he sometimes seems. Cantankerous yes, but a softie underneath. Gone is the truly bitchy, grumpy, intimidating, Will of days past.

After the meeting Mackenzie is walking away from the conference room when Will calls to her. She slows to walk with him. He leans in close to her as they make their way across the bullpen, and he speaks to her in a low voice. “When are you seeing your doctor again?”

“Tuesday, first thing.” Mac slips into her office and Will follows.

“Tuesday?”

“Yes, Tuesday, that’s what I said,” she walks around her desk and opens her top drawer, rummaging.

Will stands just inside the doorway. “I think you should go today.”

Mackenzie looks up at him. She gives him a confused expression. “Why?”

“We need to make sure everything is ok.”

Mackenzie straightens up. “Everything is ok,” she says slowly.

“With the baby,” Will clarifies.

“Yes, I got what you meant, but I still stand by my earlier statement. Probably.”

Actually, she doesn’t know that that’s true, but she can see a storm brewing on the horizon and wonder’s what fresh delight this is going to morph into.

“Mackenzie,” he sighs at her.

“I can’t go sooner because there aren’t any free appointments,” Mackenzie cuts in. “Besides, today and Monday are kind of important days, and I really need to be _here._ ” She fishes a key out of her drawer. “That being said, I’m going to the gym.”

“What?”

“The. Gym,” she over enunciates for him, grabbing a bottle of water off her desk.

“Ok, I heard you,” Will snips back. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Mac stops in front of him and shakes the hair from her eyes. Ok, he’s bothered by something. She can wind him up about it, or she can try to talk him down from that ledge. “Because?”

“Strenuous exercise could cause…” He waves at her stomach. “You know.”

Mackenzie stops his hand with hers. “Billy, I don’t plan on bench pressing five hundred _pounds_. I’m just going to do an easy _walk_ on the treadmill. That’s hardly going to giggle the thing outta there. However, deadlifting _eight_ hundred pounds might,” she pretends to be thoughtful.

Will gives a huff and jerks his hand out of hers.

“Will,” Mackenzie laughs slightly, trying to soothe him. “Light exercise is really good for me right now. Healthy mum equals healthy baby. You must have read that in your–”

“I don’t know what kind of programme you do at the gym,” Will cuts in.

“Why don’t you come with me?” She pinches at his stomach. “You could walk off a few pounds.”

Will gives her an offended expression, like he has no idea what she’s talking about.

“You seem on a health kick–” Mackenzie starts.

“I used to be very fit– What health kick? I–”

“You quit smoking?” Mac raises her eyebrows at him.

Will does a double take. “How did you?”

“We’re _married_ Billy,” she tells him like it’s obvious. “You could have told me though,” she adds gently. “It’s not something to hide, is it?”

Will looks at her desk, uncomfortable, reluctant to talk about it. She has _no_ idea why.

“I know we’ve only been back together for about _two_ minutes, married thirty _seconds_ , and now we’re having a baby,” she reels off. “But we _used_ to talk about everything–”

“Mackenzie,” his tone holds a warning.

“And I hope we get back to that at some point,” she raises her voice to speak over him. “Especially before–”

“I don’t want to die!” Will exclaims.

Mackenzie blinks up at him. “Ok,” she says slowly. “Not sure that’s something you can entirely control.”

“It’s– Ok, I’m already ancient. It’s a miracle you’re even pregnant,” Will gives her an earnest expression and she knows he’s thought about it, and convinced himself absolutely of this theory that’s about to come out of his mouth.

“Let me just stop you there,” Mackenzie raises a hand, and he does, mouth open. She moves around him to close her office door and then tugs him into one of the seats opposite her desk. She tosses her gym locker key onto the desk top, puts the water bottle down, and then sits in his lap, linking her hands at the back of his neck, while his instinctively lace under her butt, supporting her weight. “Charlie Chaplin had a kid at _seventy-three_.”

Will gives a dismissive huff.

“And the oldest father on record was _ninety-six_ , when he had his _second_ child. You are _not_ old. Besides, your swimmers can’t be that ancient, seeing as you did, in fact, get me _pregnant_ and we weren’t _even_ _trying_.” Mackenzie sees the softening of his expression, despite his attempts to stay stoic, and knows she’s got him. He even looks a little proud. “I _do_ think it’s great you quit smoking though, that’s definitely going to help you stay alive a little longer.”

Will gives a shrug of his shoulders and mouth. She watches him for a moment, waiting for the rest of it, wonders if he’ll share. He doesn’t.

“Sloan was in here a moment ago suggesting we go to a juice bar.”

“Why would I go to a–?”

“She and _I_. And to get a juice. That’s what you do at a juice bar.”

“I know what a juice bar is–” Will says impatiently.

“Anyway,” Mac goes on. “She suggested we have kale and raspberries–”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“And I freaked a little, thinking, our baby is that exact same size.” She curls her fingers to make a circle about the same diameter, while she notices her heart rate goes up. “That’s _that_ big,” she shows him. “Our baby is _that_ big right now.” Will watches her, his blue eyes slightly wider than before. “It’s surreal, Billy. I don’t think it’s entirely sunk in. But if you think I’m not freaking out about this a little, you’re wrong. It’s scary but you know what else?”

Will gives her an I-have-no-idea expression.

“There’s a _hole_ in the boat. And no matter what we do we can’t fix the hole. The water will keep coming in. But if we bail it out _together_ there’s a really good chance we can do it faster than the water comes in and tries to swap us.” She pauses. “I can’t remember exactly what you said, but I know I’m not half as scared as I could be _because_ _I know I have you._ ”

Will’s face is slack but his eyes are full to the brim and if Mackenzie didn’t know any better she might have thought he may cry. But Will doesn’t cry; he’s not a crier. She does know he’s feeling things right now. Things he’s not good at dealing with. And so it comes out in funny freak-outs and strange arguments.

“I’m scared I’m going to be my father,” he tells her.

“Will,” Mackenzie’s expression softens rapidly. “You are _not_ your father. And I’ve _met_ him so I can say that and it’s _true_. And you’re not in danger of turning into him because you’re _you._ And if you did, then I would _kick_ your _arse_ myself.”

Will gives a huff of a laugh but the depth of his eyes sucks her in. God, she wishes she could wave a wand and make it ok for him. She wishes that loving him was enough. She didn’t know that before. Before, before. The first time around, before they broke up. There was a lot she knew on an intellectual level, but know she _knows,_ knows. She’ll probably spend a few more conversations convincing him everything is going to be ok.

“Besides, not _everything_ about him was awful. He had his moments.”

Will breaks eye contact, but he doesn’t contradict her. He knows. And he accepts it as true. Interestingly, he’s argued that with other people before. He’s argued it with Mackenzie before, after he told her his father used to hit him. _He’d beat me but he wasn’t a bad man_. It’s just that the bad stuff was so bad sometimes it often overshadowed the good stuff.

“Are you still seeing Habib?” Mackenzie asks gently.

Will gives that shrug again; dismissive.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Maybe you should.”

There’s a tap on the office door and Jim pops his head in; he looks uncomfortable, like he’s walked in on them doing something… rude. “What do you need?” Mackenzie asks him, climbing out of her husband’s lap.

“Uh, actually, I need to talk to Will.”

“Yeah?” Will turns in his seat.

“Uh, out here,” Jim says conspiratorially.

“All right then.” Mackenzie picks up her gym locker key, and the water bottle again, “Then I’m going to the gym.” She looks at her watch. “For half an hour.” Will stands and she squeezes his fingers as she walks by him.

 

**********

 

Oh yeah, half an hour in the gym is good and plenty. Anything more than a fast-paced walk makes Mackenzie’s breasts leap around enough to make her feel like they’re being torn from her body. And afterwards, they ache so badly that she holds them in a cold shower and tries not to cry. Plus, she’s really winded, even just after power walking. Yeah, she’s skipped out on a regular gym schedule, but surely she wouldn’t have gotten that unfit that quickly? And she thinks about what Will said, the bit about not knowing things and feels the same way. Sure, she knows things about pregnancy and giving birth, but actually, she doesn’t know all the intimate details. And now that she _is_ pregnant, those are things that she should probably know. She has questions. What’s normal? What can she expect?

When Mackenzie steps into the bullpen it goes suddenly really quiet. Not a complete silence, but close. Everyone lowers their voices, and she can feel their eyes on her. Halfway across the space she gets suspicious and slows to a stop and wonders what’s going on. Jim comes to stand in front of her office. “Supply brought up those boxes for you,” he says. The room goes completely quiet, and ok, so packing her office is going to make her move upstairs quite a bit more real. Probably one of the reasons she’s been putting it off.

“All right,” Mackenzie responds slowly. “Thanks.” There’s something else though. She gets closer to her office. It seems different in there. Darker. And multi-coloured. She pulls the door open and balloons spill out over her feet, bumping against her shins and floating into the bullpen. Baby blue and candy pink and Kelly green. Behind her, the bullpen erupts into applause and cheers and she catches sight of what’s printed on the green balloons: ‘congratulations’ and underneath, on every one, they’ve written in black marker ‘on your promotion’. And then she sees that on the baby balloons it says ‘congratulations’ and they’ve written in black marker, probably on every one, ‘on the baby’. Tears spring to her eyes, surprising her, and she turns to find everyone at her back, clapping and grinning and to the side, Will, just standing there, a goofy grin on his face. The silly man. This was probably his doing.

Mackenzie goes to him and puts her arms around his neck, hugging, giving an actual sob, which makes her laugh. Will rubs her back, murmurs in her ear, “Are you ok?”

Even though she feels like hitting him for asking her _again,_ she nods, and pulls back to look at him, smiling, even though there are tears in her eyes.

“It’s payback for the time you all threw water in my face,” he tells her but she rolls her eyes at him because it’s _not_ the same thing at all. “There’s more,” he gestures to her office so she takes him by the hand and attempts to wade her way into her own personal ball-pen of balloons. She has to scoop them out behind her, throwing them into Will’s face and by the laughter and the sounds of stretched rubber bouncing off harder objects behind her she figures the others have crowded in close as well and are getting showered.

The balloons don’t reach the ceiling, they don’t even reach the top of the door frame, but still, Mackenzie fights her way in and stands among them, almost hip deep, in the middle of her office. Which is now bare. The books on her shelves have been packed, the cabinet under the window is empty, her desk is clear, and the table opposite now has a neat stack of archive boxes on top of it. She turns. Will’s standing just inside the doorway, still looking pleased with himself, and just behind him are Jim, Maggie, Sloan, Don, Martin, Kendra, and further out the door, Mackenzie can more of the staff standing around, trying to see her reaction; Jenna’s head bobs into view.

“Guys,” she starts. But she’s at a loss for words. She just gives a nod, her throat feeling tight.

“We’re going to miss you,” Maggie says and everyone claps again.

Mac tries waving them off. “I’m not going to be able to work at all this afternoon.”

Will gives a frown of his mouth. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it covered.” He takes a step towards her, reaches out his hand and she takes it. “Besides, you’re the boss now.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Mackenzie becomes aware of the fact that she’s awake, but, blissfully, it’s not because she needs the bathroom. She stretches out in bed, then turns over and curls in on herself again, pulling her knees up towards her stomach. The blanket is tight and her knee nudges into something solid. She pries open an eye to find Will stretched out on top of the covers. Fully dressed. He’s reading something on his phone; scrolling with a thumb. “Morning,” Mackenzie offers sleepily. She closes her eyes again.

“Hey, morning,” he almost whispers back. “Are you awake?”

“It seems so.”

“Ok, wait there. Don’t get up.” He gets off the bed, jostling Mackenzie only slightly. It goes quiet and Mackenzie opens the eye again to see him gone from the room. She gives a half frown, can’t really be bothered with it when he’s not there to see it, and shifts again, to her back. She’s not been one for lying in bed. She feels restless and like she’s wasting time. The only time she used to stay in bed all day was when she was dating Will. And most of the time they’d just sit under the covers and talk. All day.

Mackenzie shifts again, sitting up. She picks the sleep from her eyes and looks over at her phone. The light blinks to indicate she has a message. She reaches for it as Will comes back into the room and she suddenly notices she doesn’t feel great. Again. She lights up the screen and sees that she’s slept in again. At least it’s the weekend.

“Here,” Will hands her a glass of water, doesn’t notice her hand shaking slightly as she takes it, and then gives her a little plastic container of dry crackers and ginger biscuits. He sets a bottle of ginger ale on the table, explaining how he read that ginger helps with nausea and a lot of women recommend keeping their stomachs lined with food all day, including eating before they get out of bed in the morning, because that also helps with feeling sick. Will sits by her knees as he finishes talking.

“I didn’t know that. Either of those things,” she says, her voice suddenly tight and her eyes feeling prickly. Will looks back at her with concern on his face. “I don’t know why I’m suddenly so–” Mac starts, her eyes welling up. She gives a laugh, but it sounds a bit like a sob, and she’s not crying, it’s just that, he’s so sweet. He has a way of _doing_ things. He was waiting for her to wake up so he could bring her water and ginger ale and dry crackers.

“You’re pregnant,” Will states the obvious.

“Yeah,” Mac gives the laugh/sob another try.

Will still looks perplexed. “Is there–?”

“You’re going to be great at this.”

Will looks at her with just a little bit of hope; he’s checking he’s done the right thing, that she’s not crying because he’s upset her. And she gives a little nod to convince him. “Drink the water,” he tells her gently.

Mac sips obediently.

“And eat something?” Will raises his eyebrows at her. Mac notices he hasn’t shaved, even though he is in jeans and a sweatshirt. “How are you– feeling sick? How sick are you feeling? Like you might?”

Mac gives a nod. “A bit, yeah.”

“When did this start? Yesterday?”

Mackenzie shakes her head this time. “Well, I mean, yesterday was the first time I’ve actually been ill, but, I’ve been feeling queasy for a week, I guess? I just thought it was stress.”

Will studies her a moment, his eyes careful, and then he shifts back his shoulders and changes the subject, “How many times did you get up last night?”

“Two. I made the mistake of having water with dinner.”

“I didn’t think.”

“Me either.”

Mac nibbles on a cracker. To be honest, she’s not hungry, and the thought of eating before she’s properly awake is weird, and the idea of food makes her stomach curl up at the edges. And she’s getting crumbs in the bed. But she does it because he did this for her. And he’s watching. And he might be right; it would be worth a shot.

“It’s the hormones,” Will says.

“Yes, we’ll probably have another year of random crying.”

“The peeing,” Will corrects. “The increase of hormones in your system makes you need to pee more often.”

“I need to read the book,” Mac complains.

Will gets up and leaves the room.

“I didn’t mean right now,” Mac talks to her glass of water (yelling after him doesn’t feel safe). She finishes the cracker and washes it down with a small mouthful. She does, actually, feel a little better, she supposes.

Will comes back with a stack of books. The ‘ _What To Expect When You’re Expecting’_ , ‘ _First time Fathers’_ , ‘ _Healthy Baby’_ , _‘Mayo Clinic’s Guide to Pregnancy’_ , and a few more, all along the same lines. At least half of them are feathered with post-it notes. If it wasn’t so over the top, it might be cute.

“Did you leave anything in the bookstore?”

Will gives her a disparaging expression. “I just want to make sure–”

“I know,” Mackenzie cuts him off quietly. New territory = scary.

Will sits on his side of the bed and swings his legs up to the mattress. He puts the books between them and picks one up to read, leaving Mackenzie with everything else to select from. She sticks the water glass between her thighs and selects _What to Expect…_ It’s a classic, so it seems as good a place as any to start.

 

**********

 

“I’m going to brave it,” Mackenzie announces after half an hour. She’s had the water and five crackers and now she needs to pee, and also walk, because her bum is feeling numb, and her legs are feeling restless.

“All right,” Will says cautiously.

Mackenzie throws back the covers but gets out of bed slowly. The book’s advice was to take it slow. To eat in bed, then get up _slowly_ and move around _carefully_ , so as to not jostle the sensitive stomach. So Mackenzie tries it and she seems ok, even if she does feel like she’s starring in a slow motion movie. But while she’s in the privacy of the en suite she does have a look to see if she’s grown in blue veins on her chest – an alarming discovery in her morning reading. No. She hasn’t (thank god), but she has found some other worrying things in _What to Expect_ that she hopes she doesn’t have to deal with. Like pigmentation of her skin. She’s so pale it would be so obvious. Or growing extra hair.

When she gets back to the bedroom Will droops his book to look at her. “How’d it go?”

“You want to know how I _peed_ this morning?” Mackenzie asks him, heading across the room.

He actually looks embarrassed. “That’s not–”

“I know what you meant,” Mackenzie says. She goes to the walk-in and strips off the tee she wore to bed. She eyes up her underwear drawer but can’t bring herself to actually put a bra on. Not when she aches. And not when it’s the weekend. She grabs a clean over-sized tee off the shelf and tugs it on. “I feel ok,” she says turning to her husband, who is watching her from the bed. She shimmies out of the three-quarter length taxi cab printed pyjama bottoms. Then her underwear. Will’s gaze is intent on her, but it’s a tease, because the t-shirt is long enough to block his view of everything.

““Not great,” Mackenzie adds though, dressing again. “But the good news is, so long as this pregnancy follows along a relatively normal course, I could be done with morning sickness in a month.” Will doesn’t answer. “Of course, there are many _other_ _joyous_ things to look forward to.” Mac ties the drawstring on her cotton pants. Her comfy pants. Her favourite ones.  Will is now staring at a point on the wall. “Like turning into a werewolf,” Mackenzie says, leaning for a second against the doorframe. Will doesn’t respond. “And there’s a good chance that during the transformation I may eat you.”

Still nothing.

She walks to the bed, climbs over him to straddle his hips. He looks up at her, brings his hands up to her waist to balance her. He looks expectant and Mackenzie looks at him keenly. “What?” He asks.

“Never mind. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh huh,” Mackenzie says. She leans down to place a kiss on his cheek but recoils quickly, her stomach churning. “Are you wearing cologne?”

“No,” Will answers bewilderedly.

Mackenzie turns up her nose. “Something’s–” She stops and gets off him hurriedly. Will starts to stand and she holds her hand out to stop him. “What are you wearing?”

“Clothes?” Will asks, baffled.

“No, the smell.”

Will sniffs his arm pit. “I put deodorant on this morning.”

“That’s it!” Mackenzie points at him. “It’s the deodorant.”

“It’s sandalwood!”

“It’s no good. You’ll have to get rid of it.”

“I’ve been wearing the same deodorant since I was twelve,” he goes to get up, again.

Mac holds out the hand for a second time. “Seriously, I’m really pleased you keep up personal hygiene, but you stink.”

“You can’t possibly –”

“I may be ill,” she warns.

Will gets to his feet. “Fine! I’ll go have a shower!” He goes to the walk-in and snatches up the deodorant stick, stalks past her for the bathroom. Mackenzie hears him slam it into the bathroom trash and then the sound of water. She goes to the bed stand and takes the bottle of ginger ale. She still doesn’t feel great, but she takes comfort in the fact that she’s been awake longer this morning than yesterday, and hasn’t been sick.

She takes the book she was reading, _What to Expect,_ and goes to sit in the living room. They kept Will’s brown leather couches. They’re comfy and worn and Mac slides onto the cool cushions. She tucks her knees up to lean her book against but before she opens the cover she suddenly looks up and around the room. The stacks of boxes are gone. Everything is unpacked (and all the baby stuff that was there yesterday has gone). “Holy cow,” Mackenzie murmurs to herself. She puts the book down on the couch with the ginger ale. She gets up and looks around, goes to the kitchen, the dining room. They’re both unpacked as well. The guest room isn’t (found the baby stuff, and the boxes) but still… She goes to the bathroom where Will is still in the shower. “What in the hell time did you get up this morning?”

“Huh?” Will pops open the shower door and sticks his head out. His blonde hair looks dark, plastered to his head.

“What time did you get up this morning?” Mackenzie repeats.

“Uh, I don’t know. Not long before you.”

“Bull shit,” Mackenzie calls him out.

Will closes the door again. Mackenzie crosses the room and opens it. Will turns to her, surprised. “What time?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you unpacked the whole apartment?”

He shrugs at her. “It needed doing.”

“Yes,” Mac says slowly. “But I thought we would do it _together_.”

“You want me to move everything around?”

“No,” Mackenzie says loftily. “It’s fine. It just might have been nice.” She studies him a moment, and he goes back to washing. She lets him be. But she’s a little worried. His periods of insomnia don’t often tend to end well. What’s he going to do when he runs out of apartment to organise?

 


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: a really big thank you to you guys leaving comments and kudos. I really appreciate the support and I'm looking forward to going on this journey with you :)**

 

Mackenzie sets an alarm for Monday morning and is out of bed while Will is still groaning about being woken at seven. She slept terribly and feels worse. Half of it is the baby, the peeing and the nausea and her breasts aching, but the other half of it is the worry over her new job. She has to meet Pruit at eight-thirty and she has no clue how the meeting will go, or even really what her duties are meant to be. She has an idea: run the news division. But, she supposes, like her job as an EP, she doesn’t always know what’s going to come up from day to day. It could range from budgets to chasing a new story. In the shower, she wishes she had had a conversation with Charlie about it, but she hadn’t been thinking about taking over his job one day. Perhaps though, running her own news division should have been the next logical step in her career. She’s just not sure she’s ready to make it now.

Doesn’t have a choice though.

Well she does, but, when opportunity knocks…

Mackenzie shuts off the water as she feels increasingly dizzy, and has to take a seat on the closed toilet lid before she dries off. The nausea churns in her gut and she remembers belatedly that they were going to try her eating before she got out of bed to help with the morning hormonal discomfort. Too late. She creeps into the still darkened bedroom where Will has gone back to sleep. She leaves him be, dresses in the walk-in wardrobe with the door shut and the light on. Her favourite shirt feels too tight and so she settles on the much more comfortable dark blue silk. She carries her shoes to the bedroom door and sneaks out. When she gets to the kitchen she has to double back for the guest bath and gags over the toilet. The fact that there’s nothing in her stomach doesn’t deter the violent convulsions and the taste of bile is bitter on her tongue. Her reflection is a clammy pale, grey dusts under her eyes and her dark browns look scared.

What if she can’t do this?

Baby and high level promotion? Together?

She goes back to the bedroom and kneels on the bed, shoves at Will’s shoulder, waking him roughly. “Give me the speech again.”

“Huh?” He startles, starting to sit up.

“I need the speech. Tell me it’s going to be ok?”

“It’s going to be ok,” Will repeats automatically. As he shifts he just about knocks her off the bed. He reaches out to steady her and she falls against his chest. He lies down again and rubs his palms up and down her back.

“Tell me about the hole in the boat,” she speaks into his shoulder.

“There’s a hole in the boat,” Will starts. He clears his throat. “And you have to bail out the water.” He stops talking.

Mackenzie waits a beat. “Seeing as you’re _half asleep_ I’m going to let you get away with that,” she tells him, pressing her ear against his chest. He’s solid beneath her, but she can’t hear his heart beating. And he smells like sleep (and not sandalwood), which is comforting and she lies there for a moment, her leg bent at an uncomfortable angle, clinging on to her husband.

“What’s happening?” Will’s voice rumbles in his chest.

“I’m freaking out.”

“All right. You need the speech about the boat?”

Mackenzie laughs and lifts her head. “Are you awake at all?”

“No,” Will answers, but he opens his eyes to look at her and even in the gloom of their bedroom she can see that mix of concern and respect that she so often gets when he looks at her.

“Ok. I have to go,” she tells him, pushing up to plant a quick kiss on his mouth. He grunts something in response and she shushes him gently. “Go back to sleep.”

“Already am,” he says and turns over.

Mackenzie watches him for a moment. That’ll do. She goes to the door.

“Mac!”

“Yeah?” She turns back. Will’s pushed up on an elbow, staring bleary-eyed at her.

“You’re going to be great. Kick ass!” He gives a fist pump and then flops back against the pillow. Mac gives a soft laugh again and leaves.

 

**********

 

Encouraging cheer from her husband or not, Mackenzie gets to the ACN building with her stomach in a fit of knots. She has to put it down to the pregnancy, because she walked through a fire fight and didn’t feel this scared at all. Even when she was stabbed, she felt relatively calm (maybe because she didn’t believe it was as serious as it was). Her agent arrives two minutes after she does and he asks how she is. A general inquiry but for a second she’s startled; what has he heard? She recovers, strikes up conversation. He tells her about her contract (the world’s fastest negotiation). He’s spent the last few days negotiating it with Pruit and his lawyers so this meeting this morning is a formality, getting everything all signed, and then it is official.  She’s going to be head of the news division of Atlantis Cable News.

Her Dad would be really proud – oh shit, she hasn’t called them to let them know Will’s out of prison, she’s been promoted, and she’s also pregnant! Although that last one might have to wait for a bit, seeing as they should wait for the second trimester. 

It’s an odd set-up with ACN office’s and studios in the building with the rest of AWM, who is no longer their parent company. Leona and Reese are still working out of the forty-fourth floor. They can’t use the conference room, because Reese is, so they meet in Charlie’s old office instead, which Nancy, or someone, has packed over the last week and removed all of Charlie’s personal belongings. Mac’s have been brought up, the boxes stacked to the side of the room. The desk is already weighted down with papers; time has not stopped just because Charlie is gone.

Pruit is in a good mood. But he watches her in an intense way as the lawyers talk, and it makes Mackenzie feel paranoid that he knows about the pregnancy and is going to call her out on it. She half waits for the shoe to drop, for him to rescind. He doesn’t, and they all sign, and afterwards he shakes her hand and tells her he looks forward to working with her (which feels a bit like a threat). Mackenzie asks to meet him when he’s free and, surprised, he suggests eleven. Eleven will be fine. Everyone leaves Mackenzie in her office and she looks around at Charlie’s space and wonders what she’s doing. She feels sick, probably looks it, and that’s probably why Pruit was staring. She didn’t manage breakfast before she left the apartment. There’s bottled water under the window and she goes to take one. She looks out on the city, which is deciding if it wants to rain, then down at the sidewalk. It’s a different view compared to her old office.

Mackenzie turns and goes to sit at her desk. There are two piles of papers in front of her, the stack on the left is under a yellow post-it that says URGENT, and the stack on the right is under a pink post-it that says CAN WAIT. Mackenzie shifts the pink stack further back, so it’s out of the way, and pulls down the top sheet from the urgent stack and peels off the post-it. There’s a tap on the glass of the open office door and Millie comes in. “Good morning,” she greets Mackenzie and Mackenzie returns it. “How are you settling in?”

Mackenzie gestures that the other woman should take a seat. “Barely sat down actually,” she says.

Millie stays standing. “I’ll keep everyone at bay as much as possible,” she offers. “Give you a chance to catch up,” she adds kindly.

“That would be great,” Mackenzie says with a smile. “Thank you.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Millie gestures to the piles of paper on the desk.

“Oh god no, I need all the help I can get.”

“You have a meeting with Grady in half an hour.”

“All right,” Mackenzie blinks, drawing a blank for a second. Oh right, Grady Buchanan, Charlie’s deputy. The guy who probably should be doing her job right now instead of her. That could be an interesting meeting. She thinks she might have met him once.

“If there’s nothing else?” Millie asks next.  
“I can’t think of anything,” Mackenzie admits helplessly.

“Just give me a call if you need something,” Millie suggests and leaves.

Mackenzie goes back to her paper work, tries to make sense of it. She starts separating it into piles of ‘no idea’ to ‘will deal with that in a minute’. Anything she feels like she can handle right now on her own, gets its own pile. Another tap on the glass has her raising her head. It’s Grady. She gets up to shake his hand and he welcomes her to the twenty-first floor.

 

**********

 

When Will wakes the next morning, the bed is empty and the room dark. It takes him a moment to remember where Mackenzie is and that she also came to talk to him earlier in the morning. He gets up straight away to see if she’s still in the apartment, but when he finds it silent, he glares at his watch until he makes out the numbers and realises she’s already been at work for an hour. He sighs and goes to use the bathroom. It feels odd to be in the apartment without her; they’ve barely had a moment apart since he got out of prison last week, let alone him being home alone. He showers and shaves, makes himself breakfast, then sits and reads at the breakfast bar while he eats. He checks his phone, but apart from news alerts there are no other messages. He thinks about texting Mackenzie, but she doesn’t like to be smothered. She’s probably busy anyway, too busy to worry about him. Besides, he’s just going to go up and see her as soon as he gets to the office.

Will takes a town car to the AWM building. He goes to his office first. The _News Night_ team are already there but he manages to sneak in without being cornered. In a few minutes Jim will call the first pitch meeting but Will goes straight up to see his wife. Millie greets him warmly as he walks by. “Is she free?”

“She’s meeting with Grady.”

“All right,” Will says, but it doesn’t stop him (was it meant to?) He taps on her office door and goes in anyway. They’re sitting at the conference table opposite the desk, papers and folders strewn around them. Mackenzie looks up at him over the rim of her reading glasses, pen in hand, and Grady turns in his chair to see who has come in. “Hi,” she greets him.

“Will,” Grady gets to his feet.

“Grady,” Will says, shaking the offered hand, giving an extra firm grip. “How have you been?”

“Good, good,” Grady responds. “Yourself?”

“Yeah good.”

“Glad to see you’re out.”

“Yeah,” Will says noncommittally; done with the small talk. He turns to his wife. “I just thought I’d come and see how your first day is going.”

“Busy,” she answers. “Grady’s basically explaining to me how to do my job.”

“Oh right,” Will nods. Grady’s taken his seat again, so Will towers over him. “Want to have lunch later?”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie says. “I’ll come find you,” she directs.

“All right,” Will nods. “I’ll leave you guys to it,” he says, like it’s his idea to leave again; he knows a dismissal when he hears one. Mackenzie gives him a tight-lipped smile and Grady barely glances at him.

He heads downstairs again and into the pitch meeting. Jim hesitates as he comes in, but continues. They’re discussing the D-block, where Jim wants to do a quick recap on what’s happening with Snowden and Will sits at the head of the table, feeling grumpy and bitchy and now that he’s sensed weakness in his new EP, he wants to pick at it. He doesn’t like change, and _everything_ is changing.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie gets Thai from the place two doors down, and heads for Will’s office just after one in the afternoon. Those in the newsroom who aren’t on the phone, and who spot her, say hello and she says hi back but she doesn’t have time to stop and talk. She doesn’t have time for lunch either, but she said she would, so she is. Will’s writing his copy at his desk and when she comes in he practically leaps out of his chair. He greets her with a smile and lands a kiss on her mouth before she can stop him (not that she’d stop him). “Come sit,” he suggests, ushering her over to his table, pulling out a chair for her and taking the plastic carry out bag with the food containers in them.

“Is Thai ok?” She asks, taking a seat and slipping out of her shoes, wriggling her freed toes against the carpet.

“Yeah fine,” Will says. “What’s this?” He asks of one container that has a mark on top.

“That’s mine,” Mackenzie takes it from him. She fishes chopsticks from the carry out bag.

Will sits opposite her, but close, so his legs brush against hers as he tucks himself closer to the table. “What is it?”

“Rice.”

He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Just rice,” Mackenzie clarifies, unfolding the top of the cardboard. “It’s all I feel like I can manage.” She senses rather than sees Will’s demeanour change to concern. She raises her head and his blue eyes are intense on hers. “I just feel ill,” she explains. And a little headachy.

“Did you try the ginger-ale this morning?” He asks quietly, unfolding the container of Gai Sam Ros.

“I forgot,” Mackenzie tells him.

“Mackenzie –”

“I know!” She interrupts. “I just forgot.”

“You –”

“I had a lot on my plate this morning.”

“Yeah, how’d it go with Pruit?”

She chews rice. It gives her time to think of an answer. “Fine.”

Will raises his eyebrows again and stares at her. “Just fine?”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie nods, eating more rice (which is seasoned with oil, and salt and pepper). “We’re meeting again this afternoon. We were supposed to meet this morning but he postponed. What’s with you and Grady?”

“Grady Buchanan?” Will asks.

“Yes Grady Buchanan,” Mackenzie says dryly, knowing he’s avoiding the question. “You have a history?”

“We didn’t date, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to be jealous of you and Grady sleeping – that’s good to know.” She looks over at Will as she puts more rice in her mouth, waiting on him.

“Nothing,” he gives a shrug.

“There’s nothing between you and Grady?”

“Nope,” he says and puts chicken in his mouth.

Mackenzie watches him chew, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Want to try the other one?”

Will gives that shrug of his mouth again.

“All right,” Mackenzie barely avoids rolling her eyes.

“Have you eaten at all today?” Will changes the subject.

“I’m eating right now,” Mackenzie says loftily. “Which reminds me!” She puts the chopsticks down and pulls the bottle (one of the bottles) of prenatal vitamins from her bag and puts them on the desk. She also produces a bottle of water.

“You haven’t taken them yet?”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Mackenzie clarifies. “I can take them now,” she tells him patronisingly. “It doesn’t have to be in the morning.” She pauses. “I’ll probably just throw them up then anyway.”

“Were you sick this morning?”

“Do you want a rundown of _every_ bodily function I have each day? Three a.m, woke up to pee –”

“I was just asking,” Will retorts sharply.

How quickly they turn to sniping at each other. Mackenzie bites her tongue. “Sorry.” Will looks over at her. “Stressful morning?” She suggests as her excuse. He gives her a softer expression.

“You know, something occurred to me today,” Will starts talking again.

“Was it that you wanted to tell your wife, who is now also your _boss_ , what the thing is with you and Grady Buchanan?”

“It was that I, once again, have had an EP decided for me. That’s twice in three years.”

“That’s _amazing_!” Mackenzie says with false enthusiasm, annoyed that he won’t tell her about Grady. Will gives her an unimpressed expression. “Did you not manage to get approval put into your contract that time you renegotiated?” She asks innocently.

Will tightens his lips at her. How quickly _she_ turns to sniping at _him_.

“If you _really_ don’t want Jim as your EP, then we can have a conversation about it. But can we do it later in the week when I have a chance to figure out what the _hell I’m doing_?”

Will reaches over and takes her free hand. He rubs her knuckles with his thumb. It’s meant to be reassuring, but then he asks, “Do you think Jim’s capable?”

“Will,” Mackenzie warns.

“He doesn’t have your experience.”

“He’s been my shadow for almost five years. Everything he _knows_ is what I’ve taught him. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust–”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem. I wouldn’t have promoted him if I didn’t think he could do it.” She turns her hand so they can link their fingers, his wider digits pushing hers out at the joints. Her engagement ring sparkles in an unexpected burst of sunlight from the window, which also casts Will’s hair in a golden halo (perhaps it’s not going to rain after all). She’s struck, suddenly, with how handsome he is and it makes her stomach quiver. “I hope our kid looks like you.”

Will’s suddenly attentive, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I was kind of hoping, if it’s a girl, that she looks like you.”

Mackenzie gives him a soft smile. “Do you want a girl?”

“I’d be happy with a girl,” Will says.

“Me too,” Mackenzie agrees.

“Or a boy.”

“A little boy might be nice,” she adds.

“You don’t have a preference?”

“So long as it comes out healthy, I’ll be happy.”

Will gives her a soft smile this time and it makes her melt a little. A year ago she didn’t think she’d ever have the chance to have this kind of discussion with him. Their previous conversation, the one they had six years ago, about whether they wanted children went along the lines of ‘do you think about having kids?’, ‘yeah one day if I found the right person, you?’, ‘yeah me too’.

“Do you know what a great name for a boy is?”

“What’s that?” Will raises his eyebrows at her again, inviting her to go on.

“Grady.”

Will huffs loudly at her and then focuses on his food, while Mackenzie smiles to herself.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Mackenzie works late, late enough for _News Night_ to air. She watches the show from Charlie’s desk, which is surreal enough, without her also realising that _News Night_ isn’t hers anymore (or maybe it always will be hers) and she’s not the one in Will’s ear. It’s a good show (no weather reports) but she loathes seeing the twitter feeds and that reminds her she’s annoyed with Pruit for blowing her off twice today. She’s not sure if that’s deliberate, but she will give him the benefit of the doubt for now. And then she realises, if she doesn’t like the twitter feeds (what serious journalist would?) she can do something about it now. She packs up her things and heads out. Millie is long gone, and so are the other occupants of the twenty-first floor so it’s quiet as she goes to the elevators.

It’s quiet in the newsroom too, but in a different way. They’re quiet because Will is broadcasting, so they’re hushed, but not deadly silent. Maggie’s at her desk and says hello to Mackenzie as she comes in. Mackenzie gives her a smile and starts to head over. “How’s the first day going?” Maggie asks her.

“I was about to ask you that,” Mackenzie answers, stopping by her desk. “Hey, weren’t you interviewing in Washington?”

“Yeah it got put off until tomorrow,” Maggie gives her a ‘what can you do’ expression.

“When you get back, come and find me and let me know how it went,” Mackenzie instructs her. She points to the studio, “I’m going to…”

Maggie smiles and nods and goes back to her work, and Mackenzie walks around to the control room door. When she pushes open the glass she sees Jim in her old spot, headset on. He turns when she enters and looks curious. “I’m not here,” she gushes at him. “And I’m not checking up on you.”

Jim gives her a slow nod, suspicious.

Mackenzie looks to the side. Don is there, also with a headset on, but down around his neck; not in use. “Hey Don.”

“I’m not checking up on him either,” he says. Mackenzie laughs softly.

“I’ve done this before,” Jim protests.

“Not on this scale, Scooter,” Don tells him affectionately.

Jim rolls his eyes and pushes the button on his hip to talk to Will, ignoring them for now.

“He’s going to be fine,” Don tells Mackenzie quietly.

“I know,” she responds simply.

“Do you want to?” Jim indicates the headset so Mackenzie can talk to Will; they’ve gone to commercial.

She waves him off. “Actually I came down to talk to you. The twitter feeds. How much do you hate them?”

Jim considers her question for a second. “A lot.”

“Me too. Tomorrow night, don’t put them up.”

Jim looks at her blankly. “What about Pruit?”

“You leave Pruit to me,” Mackenzie says confidently. “It’s my news division now.”

Don gives a whistle of admiration. “He’s not going to be happy.”

“He’s not,” Mackenzie agrees. “But we do the _news_ here, we’re not a _social media_ sponsor. So if he wants twitter scrolls, he can put them on dayside.”

“I think he already has,” Jim notes.

“Well, they can have ours too,” Mackenzie says haughtily.

“Yes boss,” Jim says, then turns back to talk to Will again, and he looks happy.

“How’s your first day going?” Don asks her quietly.

“I’ll let you know when it ends,” Mackenzie says with a sigh. “Good show everyone,” she says before leaving, they echo her softly. She goes to Will’s office and sits at his desk, continuing to try and make sense of her new job until Will finishes the broadcast and they can go home. Together.

“Jesus!” Will exclaims as he comes in. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

Mackenzie looks up innocently from his desk, glasses on, paper strewn, a yellow legal pad thick with notes. Will comes around the desk, “Did you watch the show tonight?”

Mackenzie indicates the TV on, on the opposite wall. “Yeah.”

“What did you think?” He bends to put a kiss on her head. Then walks past her to the bathroom to change.

“I think it was a good show,” Mackenzie says, because she was only half listening to it, while she concentrated on her job. “How’d it go with Jim?”

“He’s not you,” Will says through the bathroom wall.

“Give him a chance. I know you don’t like change –”

“I’m giving him a chance!” Will says grumpily.

Mackenzie starts sorting out the papers on his desk, putting them into some sort of order so she can find them again tomorrow. Plus, she also has to check she isn’t taking something of Will’s with her.

“You can leave that there if you want,” Will offers.

“I can’t,” Mackenzie tells him simply.

“All right,” he dumps his crumpled suit onto the table by the wall. He rolls the sleeves of the open button down he’s changed in to. “Did you talk to Pruit?”

“No, but tomorrow night, no Twitter scroll.”

Will raises his eyebrows at her. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes I am,” she says defiantly. “And if Pruit has a problem with it, he can come and find _me_.”

She stands, closes her folder and picks it up. “Shall we go home Mr McAvoy?”

“We shall Mrs McAvoy,” he says with a slight smile.

 

**********

 

“That reminds me,” Mackenzie says once they’re in the elevator. “Do you want me to change my name?”

“To what?”

“I thought maybe Brenner,” she says dryly. “McAvoy,” she amends quickly (might have been pushing her luck with that one). “What did you think I would change it to?” She looks over at him. He’s giving her a dead stare. “Too soon?”

“Yeah,” he says. “If you want to change it to McAvoy that would be ok with me,” he adds quietly.

Mackenzie watches him a moment, taking stock of the fact that she’s married to this man. _Married_ to him. Wow she loves him. And wow is it really hitting her today.

“Of course, McHale is your professional reputation,” Will goes on with a wave of his hand, as if that’s something that can be dismissed.

“That is true,” Mackenzie agrees. “It says McHale on my Peabody’s.” The car doors ping open and she steps out, Will at her back, a hand brushing against her. She reaches back and takes it and they walk out of the AWM building hand in hand. Will opens the door for her on a cab and then climbs in behind her. She sits close to him, so they’re touching and takes his hand again. Will gives the address and then sits back.

“We’ll see how this News Director thing goes before I decide if I want you associated with the name McAvoy.”

Mackenzie elbows him in the ribs.

“Ow,” he complains with a laugh – she laughs softly with him. “Hey, how are you feeling now?”

“Now that I’ve caused you pain? Much better.”

“I meant –”

“Fine, nausea is gone.”

“Good,” Will gives a nod of his head. “Do you want dinner?”

“Yes, I haven’t eaten since we had lunch.”

“That was eight and a half hours ago, you should have eaten,” Will scolds.

“That was eight and a half hours ago, you should have eaten,” Will scolds.

Mackenzie raises a shoulder innocently. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Will purses his lips, because he knows that’s not true. Also, “You’re growing another person Mackenzie, you have to eat.”

“I know,” she says simply but he’s not sure that was an assurance or merely to get him to shut up. “Speaking of growing another person,” Mackenzie goes on. “Don’t forget we have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.” She pauses. “Or, I do.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Ok, because I’ll have to go in to work first and meet you there.”

“All right.”

She tells him where the appointment is and what time and they make a plan to meet. The cab arrives at their apartment and Will pays. When he gets out he offers Mackenzie his hand, which she takes, only because he offered; she doesn’t need it. Molly once asked her if she found Will suffocating, the way he always keeps so close, how he opens doors and pulls out her chair, but honestly, Mackenzie hadn’t really thought about it until it was pointed out to her. So that would make the answer a ‘no’, she doesn’t mind it. She likes it. It’s gentlemanly. And he mostly does it when they’re alone (Molly only saw the tip of an iceberg), and seeing as they’re not often alone, she’ll take what she can get.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie requests macaroni and cheese for dinner so Will goes to heat up milk, and once he’s finished ‘cooking’ (he used a packet; who can be bothered cooking ate ten o’clock at night?) he finds her on the couch in the living room, stretched out and asleep. He hesitates over waking her. She should eat, but she’s also tired (and wary), so she should sleep. But she also needs to eat. In the end, she wakes herself, while he’s standing there watching her, hesitating over what he should do. She moves so he can sit next to her. She thanks him for the food, complaining that she’s starving and then brushing him off when he tries to tell her she should have eaten hours ago. Even he had more Thai before he went on air because he had lunch way earlier than normal. She ate late.

Mackenzie looks thoughtful for a moment and then looks over at him. “This is going to be hard,” she says.

Will blinks at her. “What is?”

“This. Us.”

His heart starts to beat harder.

“Being together,” Mackenzie says but looks unsure with what she’s just said. “I mean, when I’m – our schedules aren’t going to match up anymore. We could miss each other a lot more than we see each other.”

Will watches her a moment but she just stares at him, her eyebrows drawn in with concern, her dark eyes intense on his. What she doesn’t ask is: are we still going to see each other? Will would have told her ‘of course’, but it’s not prophetic.

After dinner Mackenzie takes a quick shower and gets into bed. She goes to sleep almost immediately and even though Will goes to bed at the same time, he doesn’t drift off anywhere close to straight away. This isn’t his bed time and he’s not actually tired. He’s only just finished working (and the broadcast goes through his mind. Did he mispronounce ‘finance’?). But he likes to be around Mackenzie, when he gets the chance, so he lies there, cuddled up behind her, until she falls into a deep sleep, and he’s been staring at her back for at least an hour, then shifts carefully away and gets up again. He feels melancholy and listless; he feels like a bachelor again. Except he’s not. He’s married, and the ring is still smart on his finger. He goes to the guest room, where he left boxes still packed and starts to sort through them.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Mackenzie is woken at five thirteen with her bladder aching. She climbs out of bed and stumbles for the bathroom in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the nausea to roll in, which seems so unfair. She’s barely awake. She’s not sick though, so sneaks back through the bedroom where Will is breathing heavily, and goes to the kitchen. She pours herself a glass of water, feeling worse the longer she’s on her feet, and goes to lay on the couch. The leather sticks to her bare legs uncomfortably but she keeps still, raising her head to sip water every half a minute or so. When the glass is empty she puts it on the floor and lies still. She finds herself going back to sleep, and drifts for a while, but stops herself from getting into a deep slumber when the room gets lighter and the sun comes up. She doesn’t want to sleep through and be late for work.

She’s not sure if the water helps, but she does manage to shower and get ready for work without actually throwing up. She doesn’t eat breakfast though, can’t face it, so goes to the office on an empty stomach. She figures she’ll eat something when she gets there, when her stomach’s had a chance to warm up for the day. She goes early so she can get in a few hours before she meets Will and her doctor for her first pregnancy appointment. It’s hard to believe a few days ago she didn’t even know she was going to have a baby, and a few more days before that, Charlie was still alive and Will was in prison. Oh shit, she hasn’t called her parents to give them the news. About Charlie and Will – she’s not sure she should mention the baby yet. She should have done it earlier, when she was awake too early.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie’s late. Which is funnily enough what inspired her to see her doctor for a blood test, as it turns out. Will looks at his watch as he sits in a chair that he’s slightly too big for, then around the waiting room; he’s not alone. He wanted Mac to get in with the best OB/GYN in the city, but she refused. She knows her doctor, likes her doctor, feels comfortable where she is. He can’t argue much with that, though he did try for a little while last night when they were getting ready for bed. The door pushes open and Mackenzie comes in. She breathlessly tells the receptionist who she is and why she’s there and then she looks around and spots Will, points to him and heads over. Will stands to meet her, plants a kiss on the side of her head and they sit.

“Sorry I’m late,” she leans towards him, her voice husky. “I was talking with Brad about –” She stops abruptly. “Never mind.”

“The numbers?” Will asks with raised eyebrows.

“No,” she tries, poorly, to lie.

Will gives her an unimpressed expression. “Are they bad?”

“No,” she says flatly. “They’re _fine_. Don’t worry about –”

“The numbers,” they finish as the same time.

“You sound like Charlie,” Will adds flippantly and then they both realise what he’s said. Will shifts in his seat and Mackenzie licks her lips, looks away. “So how are you feeling this morning?” Will tries changing the subject.

“Ugh,” Mackenzie gripes, sitting back in her chair. “Rotten.”

“Did you eat?”

“No,” she admits.

“Mac,” Will reprimands quietly.

“I _know_.”

They fall silent.

“Let’s go for breakfast after this,” Will suggests.

“We can’t, oh, that reminds me. We have to meet with HR.”

“What for?”

“You know, the conflict of interest/sexual harassment thing.”

Will gives a nod, listens as she talks. She looks incredible. Her hair is pulled back off her face, but falls into her eyes anyway, and it’s deeply shiny. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and she looks suddenly younger. He wonders when that happened. Overnight? Because, no offense, but she didn’t look this amazing yesterday. Maybe she was stressed out about her first day. She doesn’t always cope so well with stress. She’s done something smoky with her eye make-up, and swear to god, her cleavage is phenomenal.

“I have eyes you know,” Mackenzie huffs.

“Sorry,” Will murmurs and looks up again. He didn’t realise he was staring. Was pretty sure he was just glancing.

“Honestly? I feel like my shirt is a size too small,” Mackenzie complains and kind of, wiggles, in her seat, adjusting her chest with her arms. Will can’t help but be enthralled. “I think if my boobs get any bigger I’m going to have to stop wearing it.”

“Yeah – wait, they’re bigger?” Will looks. Not that he’d know by touch, seeing as he’s under strict instructions to keep his hands off, and they haven’t exactly done anything in the last few days.

“You didn’t notice that just now while you were ogling? I thought that’s why you _were_ –”

“I wasn’t ogling,” Will lowers his voice and leans towards her so she can hear him anyway. “And I haven’t sexually harassed anyone.” Ever. That’s his point. Ever.

“Yeah, not in a while,” Mackenzie says lightly.

“I have never groped anyone,” Will continues to defend himself.

“I meant me,” Mackenzie clarifies woefully. Will is just doing a double take when someone calls his wife’s name. Mackenzie gets to her feet with a smile. “Come through,” the other woman gestures. They follow her into an exam room and Mackenzie introduces Will as her husband. Which sounds almost strange, seeing as it hasn’t happened before. They’ve been married months, but this is the first that they’ve actually started doing things as a couple. Like, actual married couple type of couple stuff. Stuff where they would introduce each other as husband or wife.

Doctor Katherine Mottola starts off with the inevitable ‘how have you been?’ and ‘how are you feeling?’ Mackenzie talks about the morning sickness and other pregnancy symptoms she’s developed since she saw the doctor last. Katherine asks if she’s managing to eat ok, how often she’s being sick and if she’s started taking the pre-natal supplements.

“Yes,” Mackenzie smiles. “Will made sure of it.”

“Good,” the doctor says. He gives an ‘it’s not a big deal’ shrug of his mouth, feeling like a hero. Katherine also explains about things that help with nausea and encourages her to try to eat in the mornings even when she doesn’t feel like it. Mackenzie glances briefly at Will who is silently gloating. General questioning aside, Katherine does the internal exam next. While Mackenzie goes to change (and leave a urine sample) Katherine sets up. “Is this your first child?” She asks Will.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“If you have any questions along the way, just ask them,” she offers.

“Thanks.”

“Will bought a million books,” Mackenzie says coming back into the exam room. She slides up onto the chair and puts her feet in the stirrups. Will feels like he should look away.

“Well you’ll be well prepared,” Katherine says genially.

“That’s the idea,” Will adds.

Katherine checks Mackenzie’s cervix is closed and then pushes down on her uterus, feeling the size of the baby. Will’s even amazed she can feel anything, considering the thing is the size of a raspberry, and there’s no outward sign that his wife is having a baby (except for maybe the larger boobs, which, now that she mentions it, he can see are definitely bigger than before) but Katherine assures him she can feel a difference, and, now that she’s examining Mac, she’s not sure they got the gestational age right. “Or it’s twins. Your uterus is bigger than I would expect at this stage.”

“What?” Mackenzie and Will ask in alarm at the same time. They look at the doctor, and then at each other, and then back to the doctor.

“I think we should get you in for an ultrasound as soon as possible,” Katherine says. She strips off her gloves and tells Mackenzie she can get changed again. “I’m going to call them and see if they have an opening this afternoon.” She picks up the phone and kills any chance of Will interrogating her for more information than ‘it could be twins’.

Mackenzie changes in record time and sits with Will while they listen to Katherine asking whoever’s on the other end to squeeze in a patient of hers. She mouths ‘eight fifteen’ at Mackenzie, the following morning, who nods vigorously. She reaches out to take Will’s hand and squeezes it tightly. When Katherine hangs the phone up she writes the appointment out on a card. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she says. “But I just want to check.”

“What are the chances it _is_ twins?” Mackenzie asks.

“Do you have a family history of twins?” Katherine asks.

“No,” she answers.

“Generally, there’s about a three percent incidence rate of twins in the US population,” Katherine tells her. “But we’ll know more when we get that ultrasound done. I’ll call you when I’ve had a look at it myself. And I want to take some blood. Are you ok to do that now?”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie agrees, but she sounds shaky.

“I’ll want to do an amnio as soon as possible too.”

“How soon is that?” Mackenzie asks, thinking that’s supposed to be done in the second trimester.

“Fifteen weeks is about right.”

 _So not early at all,_ Mackenzie thinks.

“That’s the test for Downs?” Will interjects.

“It can be used to test for many genetic disorders and neural tube defects,” Doctor Mottola explains. “But Downs is the main one, which is a risk with Mackenzie’s age.”

Mackenzie looks down at her hands.

“What are the chances of Downs?” Will asks.

“It’s one in four hundred,” Katherine immediately supplies. “But it is something you should try not to worry about until we know for sure either way.”

 _Like that’s going to happen_ , Will thinks. He looks over at Mackenzie, who’s listening tentatively to the doctor explaining other risks. Katherine asks him about his family medical history, which is relatively uninteresting. His father died of a heart attack, his mother a stroke (too young; too many cigarettes), but otherwise, he can’t think of anything serious. Katherine makes notes. 

 

**********

 

When they get outside, Will grabs Mackenzie’s elbow and pulls her to the side of the building, “Wholly shit Mac, twins!?”

“Yeah,” she looks up at him and shakes the hair from her eyes. Will blinks at her, dumbfounded but she doesn’t have anything to add to that. Her heart seems to be pounding and she feels dizzy. “I need to sit,” she tells him and starts to walk away. Will follows close on her heels, asking if she’s ok. She rolls her eyes, which he doesn’t see, and perches on the edge of a low wall. She pulls a bottle of water from her bag and struggles to open it while also holding on to her purse. Will takes the bottle from her, twists off the cap and hands it back. She thanks him and sips and tries to take measured breaths. She’s not sure she can handle twins.

And then she realises Will is talking to her. She can’t really concentrate on his words but she thinks he’s just freaking out about the twins thing. But when she turns to him and asks him if they can do this, he immediately says yes. She watches him carefully but he seems genuine; he seems to believe it. She reaches over and takes his hand, pressing their palms together, her right into his left.

“Are you –?” He starts to ask and stops himself. “I’m going to drive you crazy –”

“Yep,” she says.

“I need to know.”

“I understand.”

Will, her conundrum. Secure and insecure at the same time. Confident and introverted. Brave but afraid.

“I just wanted to hold your hand,” she tells him as her phone starts to ring. She gives him the water and, digs out her phone from the side pocket. “It’s work,” she tells him absently and answers. It’s Millie. Pam from publicity wants to talk with her as soon as possible. Mackenzie tells her she’ll be back to the office in half an hour and hangs up. Will waits on her, so she explains the call. He nods, as if that is enough and she wonders when he had to know everything she was doing at every moment of her life. Oh right, probably when she got pregnant.

Overprotective, but respectful of her independence.

Mackenzie stands and slings her purse over her shoulder, “I have to go.” Will hands her the water back as he also gets to his feet. She takes a bigger mouthful, feeling brave, and admittedly, feeling better with something in her stomach. There could be something to that eating despite feeling ill thing. “Hey tomorrow morning, make sure I eat something before I leave the apartment.”

“I definitely will,” he says.

“All right,” Mackenzie agrees. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Will says. “Do you want to have lunch together?”

“Yeah, I should be over feeling sick by then,” she gives him a triumphant smile. She leans in to give him a quick kiss and turns to walk away. She turns back immediately. “Wait, we’re supposed to meet with HR.”

“Right,” Will says and falls into step with her as they head towards the office.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Their meeting with HR is standard stuff, but more important now that they’re married and that Mackenzie has been promoted. They won’t let their relationship interfere with their work, no sexual harassment claims, showing bias, revealing of confidential information et cetera, et cetera. They sign paper work and it’s done quickly. It’s not the first time they’ve met with human resources about their relationship. Will walks Mackenzie to her office and they have a quick goodbye because her phone is ringing. Will tells her he’ll come up for lunch and she distractedly agrees. It’s Pam from publicity. Mackenzie apologises for taking too long to get back to her. She sits at her desk, finds her pile of memos has grown slightly since that morning (when everyone else got to work, she supposes) and the stack of broadsheets are still folded where she left them earlier; she hasn’t had a chance to breathe, let alone get to them yet. Pam needs to talk to her about dayside’s news anchor.

 

**********

 

Will goes upstairs to find Mackenzie at her lunch time (he figures around twelve-thirty) but she’s somewhere else, in a meeting, so he leaves a sandwich on her desk and an apple juice and leaves again. She gets to it about an hour later and texts him a thank you and a series of kisses that make Will smile, even though they come through while he’s in the rundown meeting. Jim asks him if something is funny but Will just dismisses him out of hand and texts his wife back. It’s not that he doesn’t like Jim, it’s that he’s not Mackenzie and Will is missing her like crazy. And if she’s pregnant with twins, his twins, then – he doesn’t know what. He does put his phone down, though, and listens to Kendra explain what’s happening in Egypt with President Morsi and the ultimatum to stand down.

After the meeting, Will goes to his office to write his copy. Jim comes and goes to keep him appraised of what’s happening with the show but Will doesn’t worry about it too much. It’s not breaking news. That will be Jim’s real challenge, if that ever occurs, which Will is sure, at some point, will eventuate. He checks his phone periodically to see if Mackenzie texts him again, but she doesn’t. He figures she’s busy. So is he (thinking about twins and cigarettes and his own pending doctor’s appointment). Busy enough to start getting ready for air and realising he hasn’t heard from her for the rest of the day. He wonders if she’s gone home, wonders how she’s feeling, wonders if she’s had dinner, so calls her.

“Hey,” she answers almost immediately.

“Are you home?”

“No I’m upstairs. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I haven’t seen – I’m not sure what your schedule is.”

“My schedule is to basically be chained to my _desk_ until I get the hang of this.”

Will listens to dead air for a moment. Her voice, while its usual husky and sexy self, is also strained. “Have you eaten?”

“I got my lunch delivery,” her voice changes to warm.

“After that?”

“I got a muffin from the vending machine.”

“Mackenzie –” He starts.

“I know, I need to do better with this eating thing. I either feel sick and don’t want to or I’m busy and forget and I don’t have time to run out and get something,” Mackenzie rants. “And I _know_ I’m eating for two, but you know Billy, that’s only two hundred extra calories a day, which is, by the way, actually only the _equivalent_ of a muffin.”

“So you haven’t had dinner?” Will interrupts.

“No.”

“You should have come and found me,” Will tells her gently.

“I got busy,” she sounds petulant.

Will takes a breath, but keeps it quiet so Mackenzie can’t hear him sighing. He thinks about telling her off some more, but suspects that, now that it’s too late, a lecture isn’t going to go down too well. He doesn’t want to fight with her. He doesn’t want to add to her stress. “Are you staying tonight?”

“Yeah probably.”

“Then I’ll come up after broadcast and drag you home.”

“Ok.”

“And Mackenzie, go and get something to eat now, you can take half an hour to have dinner.”

“Yeah, ok,” she sighs. “Do you want something? I can pick you up –”

“Sure yeah,” Will says.

“Are you getting ready for the show?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I should let you go. Good show tonight.”

“I love you Mackenzie.”

She’s silent for just a second, which tells Will she’s surprised. “Me too. I love you too,” she echoes. Then they hang up.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie eats, as instructed, and then turns up the sound on _News Night_ and listens to it, glances up periodically, as she works. Aside from the thing with dayside’s news anchor turning up hung over this morning and running his mouth off with a member of the public (again, by all accounts), she’s been lucky in that she’s had time to get her head around her new job with no major disasters cropping up. She’s gotten through the stack of urgent paperwork/memos and is half way through the stuff that could wait, and on top of that, as she’s finding out about policy and legality, she’s taking notes, to remind herself of the things that are important; the things she’s going to need to know on a daily basis and the things she’ll probably need to know off the top of her head if they ever come up, because sometimes saying ‘I’ll need to check that’ will allow something to snowball out of control. She needs information at her fingertips, on the tip of her tongue. It’s kind of like cramming for an exam. Been a while since she did that. But she is a fast learner.

She hears the elevators ping and figures that’s Will coming to take her home and then she suddenly realises the time. _News Night_ is well over; she missed most of it. It’s not Will though, who’s coming down the corridor, it’s Pruit and he looks pissed as he storms into Charlie’s office and it strikes her: the Twitter scroll. She made Jim take it down and now Pruit’s obviously just seen it and…

“What the fuck happened to the show tonight?” Pruit demands immediately.

A thousand snide comments die on her tongue. She knows what he’s talking about. She gets to her feet.

“Did you take down the Twitter scroll?” Pruit points a finger like a weapon, his other hand on his hip, making him look like a statue more than an intimidating figure.

“It could have been a technical error,” Mackenzie starts, then caves. “Yes I took it down. I know how you feel –”

“Do you want to be looking for another job?”

“The ink might still be drying on my _contract_ ,” Mackenzie says confidently. “But how is it going to look for you if you release a statement saying your news director was let go just _two days_ after starting her new job?”

Pruit stares at her, livid, but calculating. “Tomorrow night, I want to see the Twitter scroll back up.”

“No,” Mackenzie tells him, feeling ballsy and indignant. “I’m not putting it back up. You can put a scroll on _every_ other show on this network if you so wish it, but _News Night_ is going to _remain_ scroll free. It’s going to remain citizen _journalist_ free, because it’s a serious _news_ show.”

“You are not –” He starts to raise is voice.

“I am!” Mackenzie raises her voice to match his even though she has no idea what he was about to say. I am in charge. I am making that decision. “And this ends your involvement in _dictating_ what goes on the airwaves or not. It’s a compromise and a _conversation –_ ”

“Let’s have a conversation,” Pruit challenges. “Right now.”

“Let’s,” Mackenzie agrees loftily and folds her arms defiantly across her stomach. He takes a few more steps towards the desk, but he doesn’t sit, and so neither does Mackenzie. She waits for him to start, because, oh yeah, by the way, she wanted to have this conversation yesterday, and he totally blew her off.

“Where do you get off –” Pruit starts.

“Nope,” Mackenzie cuts him off, raising a hand to stop him. “You hired _me_ to be your news director and I’m doing my _job_. Twitter is _not_ journalism. It’s social media.”

“Media!” Pruit interjects.

“Is _not_ a definition for informational broadcasting. Twitter has no place in journalism except for maybe as a tool to –” She stops herself from finishing that sentence, thinking of Genoa and Boston and maybe it has no place at all.

“You have to realise journalism is changing. The audience wants to engage in the news.”

“Yes they _absolutely_ do, but that doesn’t make them qualified to do it. You wouldn’t ask some guy you just met on the street whether your gangrenous toe needs to be amputated or not and you certainly wouldn’t give him a hacksaw to have a go at it either!”

Pruit blinks at her.

“I’m aware that journalism is changing and I’m aware of the role the internet can play in that, but this is something we need to think about carefully before we start putting anyone with a camera on the air and calling their opinion expert. People want to be overnight celebrities, and I’m not in the business of making faces well known, unless they’re relevant. Once something is out there, it’s very difficult to take back!”

“Like Genoa,” Pruit says snidely.

“Exactly like Genoa,” Mackenzie has to agree. “And we made a mistake, _even though_ we _waited_ a _year_ before broadcasting that story, and had _five_ different sources confirming. Do you want me retracting every second story we air because someone on Twitter made something up and we _repeated_ it? Like it was fact?”

Pruit purses his lips at her. “Your contempt for the internet is biasing you–”

“I absolutely do _not_ despise the internet,” Mackenzie interjects. “I think it can be a powerful tool for information. But I also think, as a _journalist_ , that I have a responsibility to be careful about what I put out there on to that network. The internet is _forever,_ and it’s full of potential misinformation. Broadsheets line waste paper bins the following day but the internet is _forever_ and I’d like to make sure this company has a reputation for _integrity_.”

Pruit doesn’t say anything, so Mackenzie goes on. “If you want to report on what’s trending right now on Twitter, then we have programming that can handle it; dayside and _Right Now_ and _Red Carpet Wrap-up_ , and I will even give five minutes at the top of _every_ hour we have to reporting on what is _trending_ right now, but _News Night_ is off limits. News Night is going to be the _one_ show that holds on to traditional broadcasting until we can figure out a safe way to involve the entire rest of the _world_.”

“You want to stay in the dark ages,” Pruit accuses.

“No, I want to move forward cautiously. See what works, what’s–”

“You want to experiment.”

“Yes!” Mackenzie says triumphantly, miniature fist pump in there.

“On our network,” Pruit says flatly.

“Isn’t that entirely what you were wanting to do?”

They both hear the ping of the elevator.

“That’s Will,” Mackenzie warns.

“Fine, we’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Pruit says, softer, but not entirely amiable.

Will comes to stand in the doorway. “Should I come back?”

“I’m done,” Pruit tells him. He jabs a finger at Mackenzie before he goes though, “You don’t ever pull a stunt like that without talking to me about it first.” He stalks up to Will who stands in his way for a deliberate moment, taller by several good inches, and broader in the shoulder. Mackenzie is about to call him off when he steps aside anyway. Pruit glares at him before he strides away. Will comes into her office and she waits to make sure the other man is well out of earshot before complaining that she doesn’t know when Pruit’s in the building or not.  
“Everything ok?” Will asks.

“Should put a bell around his neck,” Mackenzie mumbles. She looks down at the mess on her desk and sighs. She looks up at her husband who has changed after broadcast and who is obviously ready to go home. “Yeah,” she tells him. “I can handle Pruit.” She thinks. For now at least, she has leverage. And while she thinks she might have won that argument, she’s definitely not won the war. She reaches for her bag. “Or nothing will be ok and I’ll totally fail at this and have to be a stay at home mother.”

“You wouldn’t be good at that,” Wills says softly. Mackenzie looks up at him with a frown. “I mean, you would, if you wanted that – of course you’d be a great stay at home mom but this,” he gestures at the desk. “Is where you belong.”

“I think that was a compliment?” Mackenzie says confused.

“It was. It came out – I think I could have done it better,” Will stumbles.

“Yeah,” she says, looking at him pointedly. She finishes gathering her things.

“Or hey, I could be a stay at home dad,” Will offers.

“No, I need your millions so I can by endless _shoes_ ,” Mackenzie speaks to her bag as she closes it up. She looks up and Will smiles at her. “That’s for you,” she gestures to a plastic take out container on the edge of the desk. “Beef burrito?”

“From?”

“Yep.”

“I love these,” Will takes the container and pops it open. He starts eating as they walk downstairs.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Mackenzie wakes before her alarm again the next morning. She picks up her phone to check the time before she goes to the bathroom _again_ , but at least it’s nearly seven this morning. She shuts off the alarm and scrolls through the overnight news alerts while she walks to the bathroom. The deadline has passed in Egypt, Morsi refused to bow to the ultimatum, and has been replaced. She immediately thinks about what they would report, how they would handle the information, and then has to remind herself that that’s not her job anymore. Her job is to figure out how to handle dayside’s and oh shoot, she didn’t catch up with Maggie about the job offer in DC. She got a message from Jane that she wants her though. Which means Mackenzie will have to get legal to draw up new contracts. And she needs to talk to Jim about hiring a new producer to replace Maggie, because the young woman has made herself valuable in the newsroom; her going will leave a hole. Plus, he needs to find himself a senior producer to replace himself.

By the time Mackenzie leaves the bathroom the nausea has rolled in and she kicks herself for once again forgetting to eat before she gets out of bed. She gets water and lies on the couch instead, thinking she can only spare fifteen minutes of trying to settle her stomach before she’ll have to get ready for work. She puts the television on, the sound down really low so she doesn’t wake Will, and watches some of the morning show. Hanna seems subdued.

Mackenzie sips more water and checks the time on her phone. She suddenly remembers to call her mother. It’ll be just after noon in London. Her mother answers on the third ring.

“Hi Mum,” Mackenzie greets, feeling a familiar pull of her stomach at hearing her mother’s voice; feels like being a kid again.

“Mackenzie, darling, how are you?”

“I’m good,” she answers and almost blurts that she’s pregnant. _Oh my god Mum, I’m having a baby!_ “Where are you? You sound like you’re outdoors.”

“Your father and I are at Wimbledon, watching the tennis.”

“Oh right, I didn’t even know that was on,” Mackenzie muses. “Are you good?”

“Yes we’re good. Here’s your father.”

Mackenzie hears him asking who it is and her mother telling him it’s his daughter and he asks which one, all indignant, like he’s not a mind reader. Mackenzie listens to them bicker for a second and then her father’s voice comes on the phone. “Mackenzie, it must be seven in the morning over there.”

“Thereabouts,” she answers dismissively. And then, oh! She hasn’t told them about her promotion either. “I have to get up early for my new job.”

“Your new what?” Lord McHale raises his voice. “It sounded like you said you had a new job.”

Mackenzie hears her mother asking what he’s talking about. “I do,” she answers. “I’m head of the news division now. Charlie Skinner d-died –” Her throat suddenly closes up.

“Well that’s both good news and terrible news,” her father notes.

Mackenzie nods to the darkened living room, tears in her eyes. “There’s more,” she says on a shaky breath. “Will’s out of prison.”

“Oh good show!” Her father exclaims and she’s not sure if that’s a reaction to her news or the tennis. He repeats the news for Mackenzie’s mother who also exclaims. She must snatch the phone back because the next question is from her: when?

“Last week, Thursday,” Mackenzie admits with a slight wince. “I meant to call you sooner but everything’s been _really_ wild here.”

“Well, what happened? Did he tell them?”

“No, of course not,” Mackenzie says indignantly and then regrets her tone.

“Well I didn’t know,” her mother says, sounding offended.

“Sorry Mum, I’m just – it’s early. I’m not sure I’m quite awake yet.” She’s just grateful to have a conversation and not gag through it.

“Your father said you’re the new news director?”

“Yes. Charlie Skinner died and the new owner of ACN –” She stops that there. _He promoted me to resolve a PR problem_ , sounds entirely too bitter.

“You’re going to be wonderful at it,” Mackenzie’s mother encourages smoothly. “And you’re all moved in?”

“Yes, we’re moved in now,” Mackenzie confirms. She forgets that just a week ago that was her biggest news. The apartment was complete and she was moving in. The bedroom door opens and a sleepy Will comes through the doorway, scuffing his feet and squinting his eyes. His hair sticks up in the back and he comes across the living room as Mackenzie informs her mother that they’re unpacked and settled. Will kneels on the couch and then moves so he’s lying on her, turning his head to press his ear between her breasts. She wiggles to avoid bones in sharp places and pressure on her growing breasts, and then cards her fingers through his hair. She can see slithers of silver in his blonde hair by the light of the television and thinks it unfair. When she finds grey hairs amongst her own strands they stick out like a dog’s bollocks

“Will’s just come in,” Mackenzie tells her mother.

“Put him on,” she requests.

Mackenzie holds out the phone to her husband, nudges it against his forehead. “Huh?” He lifts his head to look at her.

“My mother,” Mackenzie tells him softly.

“Did you tell her about the baby?” He murmurs.

“Shhhh!” Mackenzie hisses and brings her other hand to cover the mouthpiece of her blackberry, glaring at him.

“No I haven’t,” she whispers harshly. “I thought we were waiting to do that.”

“Sorry. I just thought…”

Mackenzie gestures the phone at him again, feels her stomach churn. Will takes the phone and she pushes at him to get him off her so she can sit. He sits back on his haunches, looking dazed and she wonders why he’s up so early; did she wake him? And what time did he get to sleep last night; is he still having trouble?

“Ann,” Will puts the phone to his ear. “Good morning.” He pauses, then chuckles, all smooth, easy, mid-Western charm; even though he’s still half asleep. “Yeah I – No, we’re not in bed,” he adds drolly.

Mackenzie rolls her eyes and extricates her feet from under him. She feels hot and her stomach is not happy. But she has to get ready for work. When she goes to walk past Will he grabs her wrist to stay her. He’s almost her height, even kneeling on the couch, and he gives her a concerned expression. She knows what he’s asking her and she shakes her head, no she doesn’t feel well. She goes and picks out clothes for the day but that’s as far as she gets before Will is back with her phone, handing it off again. Her mother just wanted to say goodbye. They exchange ‘I love yous’ and hang up.

“Your mother is mad at me for marrying you in a courthouse,” Will says. “And six weeks early. And without her there.”

“A month ago she was mad at me for marrying _you_ in a courthouse,” Mackenzie counters. “Why are you up so early?”

Will blinks at her. “The ultrasound? That was this morning?”

“Oh shoot! I forgot all about it.”

Will looks at his watch. “We’ve got time.”

“Ugh,” Mackenzie gripes, heading for the shower. She has to skip washing her hair because she ends up gagging into the drain, and, thankfully, it’s little more than bile and the water she drank before. Also, Will doesn’t choose that moment to come in and shave and so she’s spared any kind of lecture about eating. She gets out when he gets in and dresses. She does eat a few dry crackers in between putting make up on and doing her hair. They leave the apartment with fifteen minutes to spare but are still five minutes late for their appointment. Mackenzie apologises profusely; it was her fault.

“It’s ok,” the man behind the desk of radiology says. “Five more minutes and we would have given your appointment away.”

“Oh,” Mackenzie says. “Well.” She turns to Will and he gives her an ‘oh well’ expression. They go to take a seat and are made to wait five minutes anyway. Mackenzie fidgets with her bag until Will puts his larger hand over hers. “Nervous,” she says.

“Because it could be twins?”

“I had forgotten about that,” she gives him an unimpressed expression. “What time did you go to sleep last night?”

Will gives that pout of his mouth.

“Billy,” she says softly. “Are you sleeping?”

“Mackenzie McHale?” A female voice calls her. Thwarted, Mackenzie gets to her feet and approaches. They walk down a corridor to a room and are ushered inside. “I’m Ellen,” the technician introduces herself.

“Will,” he shakes her hand.

“Are you dad?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Grab a seat,” Ellen directs. They sit. She goes through routine questions; checks Mac’s age and birthday, address, other contact information. “So today we’re going to do a transvaginal ultrasound,” she goes on.

“Sorry,” Mackenzie interrupts. “A what?”

“That’s where we use an internal device, inserted into the vagina –”

“Is that necessary?” Mackenzie asks.

“Your doctor requested it,” Ellen says, seeming unsure now. “Because you’re having your first scan relatively early, the eight week mark, it’s going to give us the best images… And we’re checking for multiples.”

“Right,” Mackenzie blinks.

“You can refuse if you’re not comfortable,” Ellen says demurely, but she looks like she won’t know what to do if the patient does.

“No it’s fine,” Mackenzie smiles suddenly. “I just didn’t know.”

“Ok, well, we can get started if you don’t have any other questions?”

Mackenzie gives a tight lipped shake of her head. She still doesn’t feel well and the nervousness isn’t helping. She strips her bottom half and comes out with a sheet around her waist. Will is sitting by the bed, waiting for her and he helps her slide up onto the thin mattress, putting her legs in the stirrups. Ellen rolls a condom onto what looks like a vibrator, and then adds gel. “Sorry, it’s going to be cold,” she says apologetically and inserts it. Mackenzie winces. No kidding.

But she’s soon forgetting about it when the images of her uterus come up on the screen. Will takes her hand and squeezes tightly but she can’t look at him; she can’t look away from the screen. She can see, quite clearly, the amniotic sac, and the head and body of her baby. She was expecting some sort of weird tiny mass that she wouldn’t be able to identify properly, but no, there are distinguishable features, arms and legs, and she doesn’t even need Ellen to point them out to her.

“Well, there is definitely only one foetus present,” the technician says. “I’m seeing good placenta position,” she adds, but it sounds like she’s talking to herself. “But the gestation estimate is wrong, I think.”

“What?” Mackenzie finally looks away from the screen. She was happy to hear ‘one foetus present’, but then she heard something was wrong.

“I’d say you’re closer to ten weeks. Maybe nine weeks and… six days.”

“What?” Mackenzie asks again, she looks to Will, who looks just as stunned as she does. They’ve lost two whole weeks. She’s actually _two and a half months_ pregnant.

“Which puts your due date,” Ellen muses to herself again, then consults a chart on the tray beside her. “January twenty-fifth.” She turns to give Mackenzie a smile but Mackenzie just stares back at her blankly.

“How do you get that wrong?” Will asks.

Ellen looks confused. “The due date?”  
“Billy,” Mackenzie warns.

“Yeah. We were told Mackenzie was seven weeks – should be eight weeks pregnant.”

“If it was estimated off a blood test,” Ellen starts. “And based on your last period.” She blinks at them and Mackenzie squeezes Will’s hand; he doesn’t go on. “The ultrasound is the most accurate way to determine gestation.”

“All right,” Will says. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Ellen gives a light laugh, like he’s just joking her. “No, it’s too early for that,” she says genially. “Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

“Yes,” they both answer.

She asks Mackenzie to lift her shirt and straps another device to her stomach, then shifts it lower to her pelvis. A fast-paced throbbing sound fills the room and Mackenzie looks over at her husband. His eyes are fixed on her, slightly wide with wonderment and she gives him a smile. He gives her a proud smile in response; he beams.

“Good strong heartbeat. Everything looks good so far,” Ellen says. She prints an image for them and tells them she’ll pass on the results of the scan to Mackenzie’s doctor. She can get dressed now and go when she’s ready. 

“It was me,” Mackenzie says once she’s dressed again. Will is looking at a chart on the wall, of the different stages of foetal growth. He turns to her, eyes questioning. “I assumed – the night the power was out in the apartment.” She gives a little shrug.

“That was a great night,” Will tells her seriously and it makes her smile. He approaches where she’s standing and puts his hands on her upper arms. He’s holding her bag for her, and it bumps into her side, and inside it, is the sonogram of their baby. “Are you ok that it’s not twins?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Mackenzie says heavily. “One is going to be just fine.”

“We can always have more later,” Will adds, sliding his hands down her arms. He takes her hand and turns for the door.

Mackenzie stops him. “You want more?”

“Yeah,” Will turns back to her surprised. “I thought you wanted more?”

“I think this is a conversation to have in… five years.” She walks past him and out into the corridor.

“Mackenzie!” He calls after her. “I’ll be practically dead by then.”

Mackenzie sees people in the waiting room look up when they hear Will. She gives the receptionist a bland smile and a thank you and keeps going until she’s outside. Then she stops and waits for her husband. “I have to get going, but I’ll see you later?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, cagey. Mackenzie narrows her eyes at him as he glances up and down the street. She wonders if he’s looking for spies. “Lunch?” He offers.

“Yep,” she agrees simply and he doesn’t elaborate so neither does she and this time, they do go their separate ways outside a doctor’s office.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Will walks to Habib’s because he has the time, and it’s a relatively nice day out. And fifty-three days in prison makes him feel appreciative of the sun on his face, the breeze on his skin and the wide open spaces. He cuts through Central Park, sees kids squealing on the playground and tries to watch them without looking like a pervert. Boy or girl, he doesn’t mind, he can picture himself coming here with the kid, or kids, maybe also Mackenzie if she’s not working, so maybe on the weekend? He could spend the mornings with the child anyway, before he has to go to work, take him or her to day care. He doesn’t think Mackenzie was serious about being a stay at home mother, and he doesn’t think he was serious when he suggested being a stay at home dad either. He wonders how kids cope with that, being put into day care. His mother stayed at home. They farmed, so, mostly he’d follow her around while she did chores, until he was old enough to follow his father around, but he doesn’t know anyone else raised by a day care.

What if it messes the kid up? Just because people do it, doesn’t mean it’s right.

That might have to be something he looks into.

Perhaps he could talk Mackenzie into staying at home.

Habib’s waiting room is empty so Will takes a seat, and then, feeling restless, despite the walk, gets up again to look out the window.

_Are you still seeing Habib? Maybe you should._

Will wonders what that means. Mackenzie’s never judged him about seeing a therapist, in fact, she’s always encouraged it; always respected him. But at what point does Will not need to see someone anymore? Is he going to be coming here for the rest of his life? Does Mackenzie’s _maybe you should_ mean she thinks he’s still… fucked up in some way? _Is_ he still fucked up?

Is he here to find out?

“Will.”

He turns. Jacob Habib stands by the door to his office. “Come on in,” he says warmly, a slight smile. Will obliges, but doesn’t take a seat. He still feels nervous in some way, but doesn’t know why. “How have you been?” Jacob asks, closing the door and crossing the room to take his seat. If he objects to Will standing behind him, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t suggest Will sits as well.

“Fine,” Will says, walking around the other man’s desk to take a seat anyway; he feels that he should.

Jacob stares at him, a benign smile, but he doesn’t say anything, just waits for it.

“You heard I was in prison,” Will says flatly.  
“I did. Kind of figured when you didn’t show up for a few appointments.”

“So not fine,” Will adds.

“It doesn’t seem that way,” Jacob says lightly, and it might be a question. 

“Ok, not fine. And Mackenzie’s pregnant.”

Jacob’s eyebrows go high.

“So things are really –” Will stops abruptly. His chest feels tight.

“Congratulations!” Is the first thing Jacob says, his smile wide this time. And then, “How do you feel about that?”

“Excited, scared,” Will waves a hand dismissively.

“Was it planned?”

“The baby?”

“Yes, the baby.”

“Well,” Will hesitates. “Yeah, I mean, we talked about having kids at some point, but maybe not right away.”

“So it wasn’t planned?”

“No. I heard someone say once that no one ever plans to be a parent. It just happens.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t remember.”

“For some people that might be true, but for some it’s not. All those couples who go through fertility treatments. I’d say they very much plan on being parents.”

Will gives a pout of his mouth, conceding defeat.

“And how’s Mackenzie feeling about it?”

“Excited, scared,” Will repeats, waving the hand again.

“I see you got married,” Jacob notes, pointing to Wills hand

He looks down at his wedding ring. “Yeah.”

“Congratulations,” Jacob offers again.

“We did it before I went into prison. Literally, an hour before I went in.”

Jacob gives him raised eyebrows again. “You’ve had a lot going on recently.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Will says. “Let me ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“Do you think I’m fucked up?”

Habib blinks at him. “In what way?”

“In the head,” Will says with a hint of impatience.

“Well, ‘fucked up’ is a subjective term.”

“Do you think I’m…” Will stops but he can’t find the right word either. “What if I’m not a good father?”

“I think you will be. And do you know why I think that?”

“I have no idea,” Will says dryly.

“Because you’re here asking me if you’re going to be a good father. Every new father is worried he won’t be good enough.”

“My father didn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Jacob challenges.

Will fixes him with an unimpressed stare. “I do know that. He never worried for a day he was a bad father. He thought he was a good father and we should be grateful for what we got. He thought saying ‘I love you’ was taking you fishing and then smacking you about the ears when you let the fish off the line even though you had never fished before and you were five.”

Jacob stares at him impassively. “And do you think that’s what makes a good father?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t need to worry about that.”

Will looks away to the bookshelf on the right.

“What do you think makes a good father?” Jacob asks next.

“I don’t know,” Will shoots back. “Teaching your kid not to hit people.”

“That’s a very good start,” Jacob responds. And then he goes silent, waiting on Will again.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says when Will says nothing.

“You have kids?” Will asks.

“Yes I have kids, but that’s not the secret. The secret is,” the younger man leans forward in his chair; enthusiastic. “If you’re worrying about being a good father, then you’re probably already doing a thousand times better at it than your own father.”

“I really don’t want to be my father,” Will admits.

“I know. And I strongly believe you won’t be. You already are not your father,” Habib gives a quick smile at his strangled sentence.

Will feels that one.

“Do you hit Mackenzie?” Jacob asks conversationally.

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Will says angrily.

“Then you’re already a thousand times better husband than your father was too,” Jacob adds softly. “How are things with Mackenzie since you’ve been back together?”

“Good, well –” Will hesitates, because try as he might, he finds it difficult to lie to the doctor. Jacob just waits patiently. “She’s started this new job, so she’s –” He pauses. “Busy. And she’s pregnant.”

“You mentioned that.”

“I just mean, she’s tired and sick a lot.”

“But how are things between you?” Jacob presses.

Will nods for a second and then shrugs. “I don’t know.” They’re not fighting, but they’re not exactly… “Things are ok.”

“Just ok,” Jacob notes.

He stays silent. And Doctor Habib just waits on him. “Charlie Skinner died.”

“He was a father figure to you.”

Will’s not sure that was a question. “He was,” he admits.

“Have you grieved for him?”

“I went to his funeral,” Will says dismissively.

“But have you _grieved_ for him?” Jacob repeats.

“I’m not much of a crier,” Will says snidely.

“I wasn’t suggesting you cry,” Dr Habib says lightly. “But if you want to cry, then you should. I’m asking if you grieved for him. Have you spent time talking about his death, his life, what he meant to you?”

Will gives a pout of his mouth. “I spoke at the wake.”

“That’s a good start. Anything since?”

“Where’s the finish line?”

“When you feel good, that’s when you’re finished,” Jacob retorts.

“It feels like that could be a really long time.”

“That’s up to you. It’s your choice Will. You come here for help and advice and yet you don’t always follow it, or you follow as much as you ordain. I’m a professional in my field and yet you disregard what I prescribe to you. You’ve been coming here how many years with my father? And now nearly two years on and off with me?”

“Am I being told off right now?” Will asks incredulously, that familiar nagging feeling that he really has done wrong is in his gut. Not just that, but this is exactly what has been on his mind.

“You have some big things going on in your life right now. You often do,” Habib adds calmly, as if Will needs reminding. He doesn’t. He’s very well aware of the massive life altering things going on right now; and how they scare him. And he doesn’t mean to be a jerk; he likes Dr Habib. And he _does_ help. “I don’t think you’re fucked up, Will. I think you’re working through some issues and are trying to be the best man, the best husband, and the best father that you can. I think you’re just trying to feel good. About yourself and about your relationships. And if you work with me, I think we can get you to a place where you do feel good.” He pauses, nodding slightly as if that will help his case. He seems to be waiting for Will to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. So Habib adds, “Are you willing to work with me?”

There’s a part of Will that wants to be stubborn and defiant. There’s a part of him that wants to deny there’s anything wrong with him. There’s a part of him that wants behave _just like his father._ And seeing as he’s on a campaign to _not be his father_ , he decides to do the opposite. “Yeah,” he agrees. Yeah, he wants to work with the _professional_ doctor of psychiatry to feel better about himself and his life and his relationships.

Habib gives a nod, and is thankfully humble with hit. No gloating.

“Charlie was my best friend and my mentor and a father figure. He was the man I looked up to the most.” Will gives that shrug of his mouth again while he thinks. “I just miss him.”

Jacob nods.

“You’re right. I haven’t told anyone that,” Will adds.

“Can you talk to Mackenzie about this kind of thing?”

“She’s busy at the moment,” Will answers.

“That didn’t quite answer my question.”

“I can, but right now she’s busy, with her new job and creating life, so I haven’t,” Will clarifies a little short.

“And you don’t want to burden her?”

“Yes. I don’t want to burden her.”

Jacob nods. “Understandable. But at some point you should talk to her about it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will says like it’s obvious. It is. But he actually does need to hear it; he needs permission.

“I think if you asked her she would tell you, you’re not a burden.”

“I know.”

“And that she would want you to talk about things with her.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. He knows.

“You were in prison for a month and a half?” Jacob changes the subject, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah.”

“What was that like for you?”

“I saw my father.”

Habib’s eyebrows go up. “Like, a hallucination?” He asks it carefully.

“I’d say it was a hallucination,” Will says conversationally. “He’s dead. I know that he’s dead. I know that he wasn’t really there – it was just a figment of my imagination. Probably from being enclosed in a small space for fifty-three days.”

“And what happened with your father?”

“We talked. We had several conversations.”

“Okay,” Jacob says slowly. “What did you discuss?”

“I think mostly it was a conversation with myself about – I felt like I finally understood him; worked some things out.”

“Understood what about him?”

“He was just trying to fish.”

Dr Habib nods at him and waits for more.

“He was – he’s not like me. He doesn’t – his whole world was the farm he lived on, his wife and kids. He was the judge, jury and government. If you broke his rules, it was his right to punish you and the rest of the time he wanted you to be the man that he was, because he thought that that was everything any boy of his would want to amount to; he was the best of it. He wasn’t a malicious kind of man, just… simple. And I don’t mean simple in that he was somehow unintelligent, just – fishing was his idea of great skill and patience; it had a point. The day I went off to college, he asked me why I was going. None of my other siblings have gone to college.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him – I don’t know why they never went to college.”

“No, when he asked you why you were going to college, what was your answer?”

Will thinks for a moment. “I told him I wanted more.”

“More?”

“In life. Education and bigger cities and being… more.”

Habib nods. “What did he say? When you told him you wanted more.”

“He told me I was an asshole,” Will says bluntly.

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Did you believe him?” Habib asks.

Will pouts his mouth. “Yes. For a while.”

“And now?”

“No.”

“What changed?”

“I got older,” Will tells him straight. “And maybe… I started listening to people who didn’t believe that.” He adds stiltedly, trying to expand on this thoughts and feelings. It’s not easy for him. Speaking out earned a smack around the head when he was growing up, and so he’s learned to keep it all in. Don’t let it show. Don’t give people a chance to hurt him.

“You mean Mackenzie?”

Mackenzie, who rarely holds anything back, who always wears her heart on her sleeve, who gives so much, who makes Will want to give more than he does.

“Sure Mackenzie,” Will agrees. “Other people.”

Charlie.

“I don’t know what kind of father I’ll be,” Will goes on. “Mackenzie tells me I’ll be great. But that’s also subjective, isn’t it?”

“We can only ever hope to do our best.”

“Right. But I know this, I would never hit my kids or my wife or tell them they were assholes or that they couldn’t be… more or better or just – anything they wanted.”

Jacob watches him for a moment. “I think that’s exactly right Will.”

Will gives a nod, but, he’s still not convinced, and he might never be. The point is, he’s going to try and try and try, and always strive to be. And that has to be enough. Never giving up on trying.

“When your father died, did you grieve for him?” Habib asks.

“I cried,” Will states flatly.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey,” Will greets as he comes in that evening.

“Hi,” Mackenzie echoes, looking at him over the edge of her reading glasses. She suddenly notices how thirsty she is, how her eyes ache, and that she needs the bathroom. When she stands she finds her neck and shoulders tense. “Good show tonight,” she offers as she stretches out her neck and tosses her reading glasses to the desk. Will changes his angle to come around her workstation. He slides his large hands beneath her hair, in against her neck, and rubs his thumbs into the curve of her shoulders and along her spine. Mackenzie lets out a groan. “That feels really good.”

It’s on the tip of Will’s tongue to tell her she’s working too hard but he refrains. He can’t say that. She just started this job. It’s going to take time to get a handle on it, and until then, of course she’s going to work too hard. He just needs to be supportive. If he starts on her, she’ll feel like _everyone_ is against her; he knows her, she can be dramatic. She _can_ do this, he has faith.

“Hold that thought?” Mackenzie moves away from him, and turns, her expression apologetic. “I need the loo,” she winces. She starts for the door.

“Did you have dinner?” Will asks her retreating back.

“Yes,” she waves a hand. “That’s for you,” at the doorway she points to a container on the side of her desk. It’s only when she’s in the bathroom that Mackenzie realises she left him in her office with sensitive information out on the desk. And not only that, but she also directed him to take something off her desk, where he could have seen some of that sensitive information. She hurries back to her office but Will is sitting at the conference table, eating his stuffed pita and watching the televisions opposite Charlie’s desk.

“Did you –?” She starts to ask, but then, of course not, he wouldn’t look, he wouldn’t snoop.

“Huh?” Will looks over at her.

“Nothing,” she laughs it off with a shake of her head. “It’s silly.” She goes to her desk to put the papers away, and to gather her things to go home.

Will swallows his mouthful. “I didn’t look at anything.”

Mackenzie looks up at him, the expanse of Charlie’s office between them, and he stares at her. “I wasn’t suggesting –”

“You were,” he interrupts, but then gives her that shrugging pout of his mouth; dismissive. “I didn’t look,” he repeats.

Mackenzie has to look away after a moment. She wasn’t accusing him. “I have an obligation Billy,” she tries, meeting his eye again.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t look,” he says much more gently.

Mackenzie swallows, and nods, and goes back to packing up. Will goes back to his food and she’s not sure she should be pleased he didn’t, even though he could have been tempted, or if he’s offended she was questioning his integrity. Which she wasn’t doing.

“I signed those papers too,” Will says, his eyes on the TVs.

 

They go home. Mackenzie kicks off her shoes at the door, her feet sore, and she’s tired. She gets changed for bed, just to feel comfortable, but once she’s done that she just wants to go to sleep. Will climbs into bed with her, fully clothed though; he’s just going to stay until she falls asleep. “It won’t take long,” Mackenzie jokes, pulling the blanket up to her chest, half turning her back to him and settling against the mattress. She closes her eyes and then reaches out her arm for him, makes him come up close behind her, spooning around the bed covers. She yawns. “Billy, I’m sorry –”

“Don’t worry about it. I get it. I’m not offended,” he sing songs at her.

She’s not sure what she’s sorry about. Going to sleep early when they’ve barely had time to talk this week (since he got out of prison?), or sorry that she was implying, or worrying, that he would read the documents on her desk. Both, she figures. It’s obviously on his mind too.

“Mackenzie,” he starts gently, nudging his nose into the hair at her neck. “You have to let me help you.”

“Hmm,” she agrees but she’s already falling asleep. She doesn’t ever know if he says anything after that because she’s gone. She sleeps hard until three in the morning, when she has to get up for the bathroom. When she gets back to bed Will is there, changed into his pyjamas, sound asleep. Mackenzie crawls back into bed and reaches out a hand to his back, brushes her fingers against him and then falls back asleep.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie wakes early, her bladder traitorous to a sleep-in, and sloughs out of bed. She scuffs to the toilet in the dark, a hand groping out into the air in front of her so she doesn’t walk into furniture, and then still half asleep, her eyes blinking open only to check she hasn’t aligned herself with a collision course with the door frame, she gets back into bed. She scoots right across the mattress to where her husband lays on his stomach, his head turned so his cheek is against the pillow, and lays her arm across his shoulder blades in an embrace.

“Hm?” He murmurs.

“Nothing,” she whispers, placing a kiss to a scapula.

“Hmph garran,” he says. She settles her head against his back but he starts moving. He turns over and they settle stomach to stomach, chest to chest, arms around each other. Will presses a kiss against her hair and then lies still and Mackenzie smiles into his neck as he holds her, sliding a leg between his. She slides it higher, feels her body temperature rise, feels Will’s grip on her tighten. “Mac,” he murmurs.

“Are you awake?” She whispers.

“Mmm,” he responds low in his throat and it makes her shiver. She shoves back the blanket to her waist and Will blinks open his eyes at her. She kisses him softly, placing her lips gently against his skin until he wakes up properly.

“Happy Independence Day,” she says lightly.

Thank _fuck_ for mid-week days off.

“Mac,” he sounds more alert.

She gives him a tender expression, “Billy.”

“I’m not really awake.”

“So wake up,” she teases lightly.

“I didn’t really sleep that great last night.”

“Oh that was you tossing and turning? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, my exploding bladder woke me. But Billy,” she tries kissing him again and he lets her, for a little while.

“I can’t.”  
“Why not!?” She asks loudly (louder than she intended), pushing at him as she moves across the mattress a little. “Ugh, is it the baby thing again?”

“Are you still pregnant?” Will asks sharply, turning onto his back.

“Fucks sake Will, I thought you would have gotten over this after reading all the damn books.”

“I’m just not in the mood. And I haven’t read all the damn books.”

“Is it me?”

He looks over at her, surprised.

“Am I, I know my body’s changing and it’s going to get unattract–”

“No, it’s not you!”

“I haven’t even started showing yet and –”

“It’s not you!” Will says louder. He pushes up on his elbow to look over at her. “No it’s not you.” He says urgently, but lowering the volume of his voice. “You’re – ok, your body has always been fantastic and your breasts are incredible right now –”

“Is it because I won’t let you touch them?”

“No, it’s not that, though, when that banishment ends –”

“Because if it helps, you can –”

“No, Mackenzie, I get that you’re sensitive right now and I can wait. I’m just tired ok? It’s not about the baby. It’s a little weird about the baby but it’s not that. I’m just tired.”

“Because you tossed and turned all night?” She says flatly.

“Yeah.”

“You tossed and turned the night before too.”

Will just looks at her.

“Something on your mind?”

_I bet Mackenzie won’t think you’re a burden._

“Impending fatherhood, Charlie’s death, changes at work, yeah, there are things on my mind,” he says shortly.

“I thought you were doing better with those things?” Mackenzie asks gently, lying down again, resting her head on his shoulder. She feels how he tenses under her for a second, and chooses to ignore it.

“I’m… processing.”

“Ok,” she agrees. She moves away from him again with a groan, lying back on her pillow, kicking away the blanket.

“What’s wrong?”

“Morning sickness suddenly kicked in. I’m too hot.”

“That would have been interesting if we were in the middle of having sex.”

They’re both silent for a second, and then Mackenzie laughs. “Stop it!” She complains. “You’ll make me throw up.”

“Eat something,” Will tells her. He gets out of bed. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

 

**********

 

Mackenzie drags Will uptown just before lunch, because that’s when she declares she no longer feels awful. They shower (but not together) and dress. Will shaves. Mackenzie changes her shoes three times and finally settles on ballet flats. They take the subway, then walk and it’s relatively mild out for July. Mackenzie reaches for her husband’s hand as they stroll the sidewalk, bumping into each other rather than opting to be pulled apart as they move through other pedestrians. Mackenzie seems to know where she wants to go, so Will trails along in her wake. She steps into a boutique maternity wear store and talks to the owner like they’re old friends. He’s always admired that ability; when it comes to himself, he feels shy with people he doesn’t know, sometimes even when he does know them. Mackenzie can get people to tell her things they would never confess to their priest, let alone a stranger. It’s worked on him too (sometimes still does). It’s one of the things that make her a very good journalist.

When Mackenzie asks the store assistant, Danielle, about maternity bras, she asks her if she’s going to breastfeed and Will watches his wife stumble mentally; she clearly hasn’t thought about it. She looks to Will for a second before answering ‘yes, probably’. So Danielle explains about nursing bras, maternity bras, underwire, fitting the right bra, the fact that Mackenzie might have to buy even more bras depending on how big her breasts get and Will tunes out. Not that he’s not interested, but he thinks this is more of a woman to woman kind of conversation, and every time they mention breasts or nipples he can’t help but look, which, when he’s in public, is dangerous territory. So he gets out his phone and checks for messages (there are none, because of the only two people contact him regularly one of them is right there, fingering pink bras, while the other is six feet deep) and then switches to checking the news feeds and then when that’s still not enough, he starts googling grieving and how to get over it.

He comes up with the list of the stages of grieving but he’s not sure how relevant they’re supposed to be. He’s not in denial and he’s not angry. He doesn’t isolate himself and he’s not depressed. He might concede he hasn’t reached any kind of level of acceptance but still…

He _is_ full of regret.

He didn’t get to say goodbye. He didn’t get to say so many things. He feels cheated of it, wasting time in a jail cell while his friend died. And if he’d been there, where he should have been, Sloan wouldn’t have taken to the desk, Mackenzie wouldn’t have egged her on. He would have handled the situation with Pruit; he knows how to handle a bully. He would have kept Mackenzie placated (for a while), or, at least, maybe she wouldn’t have been so defiant had he been there to talk her down from the ledge; he knows how she can get.

_I can do it too, because I’m crafty._

She wouldn’t have nearly been as stressed if he weren’t in prison. And she was pregnant then too. Just didn’t know it.

All the websites say the same thing. There are five stages to grieving. And there is no timeline on how long it’s going to take or how he can get through it sooner. Which is frustrating, because honestly, he feels fine. Maybe he’s already reached the stage of acceptance. Habib didn’t exactly say he hadn’t. And if there’s no timeline, then who’s to say that he hasn’t? A week later. He might.

“Will!” Mackenzie hisses at him.

“Hm?” He looks up. They’ve wandered over to the change rooms and Mackenzie is leaning out of the cubicle, gesturing to him to come closer. “Yeah?”

“What do you think?” She steps back and lets him see. She’s standing in her jeans and a bra only and Will’s not quite sure what she asks because he can’t stop staring at her breasts. The books say women will grow and change differently throughout a pregnancy, but Mackenzie is definitely growing quickly, early on. “I’ll take that as approval,” she says.

“Huh?” Will looks up at her eyes.

“You like it?”

“Yeah it’s very –”

She gives a slight laugh – pleased, Will would think, if he was paying proper attention. “Good,” she pushes him back out of the cubicle and closes the door on him. Will leans against the frame.

“Are you going to be much longer?” He asks and quickly adds, “I’m not complaining, I’m just asking.”

“I’m going to get these,” Mackenzie tells him and he wonders if that means she’s not going to be long or… what?

“Are you feeling hungry? We could get lunch.”

“Isn’t there that great café with the roast beef subs?”

“Two blocks from here,” Will finishes. “All right.” He checks his watch. Danielle approaches and asks Mackenzie how she’s going and Will backs off again while they talk about strap width, the pros and cons of underwire, and whether they have the black one in a different size. He wanders around the store but it’s all maternity and nothing for babies (definitely nothing for him) and he’s completely out of his depth. He gets knowing little smiles from other women and feels awkward. He heads back over to the change room and finds an overstuffed pink chair and sits, thumbs his phone again.

“Honey, can I have my bag?” Mackenzie stands in front of him.

Will passes it up to her, gets to his feet anyway, and slips his phone away. “What’s new in the world?” Mackenzie asks, digging to find her purse.

“I’ll get it,” Will offers, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. Mackenzie immediately gives up trying to find her purse and heads for the checkout counter. Will carries her purchases without question and they head out into a suddenly hot New York.

“Phew,” Mackenzie reaches into her bag again and produces designer sunglasses. “Let’s go eat. And get something cold to drink.” She grabs his arm, curls a hand around it, and then marches them forward.

 

**********

 

When they get home, Mackenzie falls asleep on the couch in about ten minutes, in the time it takes Will to go to the bathroom and come back with the pregnancy books they’re both reading. They cabbed it home because she was tired, so he’s not surprised. She’s probably at the point where she’s still catching up on sleep. He goes to get her a light blanket and covers her carefully, then quietly leaves the room again. He goes to the bedroom and lays down on the bed to read instead. He wakes when he feels pressure on the mattress next to him and Mackenzie is sliding down against his side.

“You too?” She says.

“Hm I –”

“I’m pregnant, what’s your excuse?” She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I’m old.”

She gives a short laugh.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Will shifts the arm she’s leaning on to try and see his watch. She tells him the time. So she probably had just over an hour. He has no idea how long he was out for. He picks up his book, finds his bookmark; Mackenzie snatches it out of his hand. He’s been using the sonogram.

“I was looking for this,” she says, pushing herself up to lean on an elbow.

“Sorry, I –”

“No, if you want it –”

“I didn’t mean to go through your bag –”

“You went through my bag?”  
“No.”

Mackenzie laughs at him, her dark eyes crinkling. “I don’t care Billy. I thought of the sonogram to give to you, or to at least, you know, put it on the fridge or something and then I couldn’t find it. And I had this horrible thought that I had lost it somehow and I was going to text you to see if you had seen it, or to see how mad you’d be at me if I asked you to call the technician to get another print out and I _think_ I got distracted by Pruit – never mind.”

Will lays his book across his stomach as she talks and watches her and when she’s done she gives him an almost shy smile. “What?” She asks. “Too much detail?”

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her instead. He’s not going to complain about her talking too much when he misses the sound of her voice.

She laughs a little, combs her fingers through her hair, “I probably look awful. This last –”

Will takes her hand, “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “And thank you for taking me shopping.”

Will gives a shrug.

“My bras feel like vices.”

“Well, then, good,” he says uncertainly.

“Do you miss smoking?”

The question surprises him. But what he doesn’t realise he’s doing is fingering Mackenzie’s fingers like he used to his cigarettes. “I, uh, sure, yeah.”

“You just quit cold turkey?”

Will shrugs again. “I think I miss the habit of lighting up, sitting out on the balcony at night with a drink.”

“We don’t have a balcony anymore.”

“That helps.”  
“Did you quit for me?” She asks lightly.

“I quit so I wouldn’t die.”

“For the baby?”

“Uh huh.”

She doesn’t point out that it’s too late, the cigarettes have already done damage in many ways, even if they don’t lead to an immediate life threatening illness (which he’ll be finding out about soon enough), and he’s glad for that. He’s regretting taking up smoking now. He can’t remember why he started. He needed a habit to take his mind off his life?

“Are you –?” He starts and then changes his mind. “Can I get you anything? Do anything for you?”

“I thought of half a dozen completely rude things just now,” Mackenzie answers, but at his frown she says, “No, I’d just like to lay here with you and our baby.” She moves to rest her head on his shoulder again and places the sonogram on his chest, holding it up, so they can both look at it. She gives a slight sigh.

“It’s got your nose,” Will says.

Mackenzie giggles.


	13. Chapter 13

“Kenzie.”

She’s shaken awake, confused and sluggish. It’s noisy; her alarm. And Will is leaning over her, reaching to switch it off, the bedroom just starting to get light. She feels a flare of hot, her body breaking out in a sweat as her heart races, startled and panicked. Suddenly it goes quiet and Will looks down at her, his face shadowed by dawn. “Are you awake?” He whispers, his voice rough and cracking. He clears it half-heartedly and she wonders how much sleep he’s had. She doesn’t remember if he came to bed with her and she’s not sure what day it is.

She gives a murmured response that could be a yes but at least does sound affirmative. He moves back and she sits, feeling like she only just fell asleep a moment ago, instead of somewhere closer to… If she went straight to sleep then she must have gotten at least eight hours. She needs more. God, she’s so exhausted. Even though she napped yesterday on their bonus mid-week day off. She flicks back the covers, hot, nausea rolling over her, shaky hands pushing back the hair from her face and neck, twisting it. Will asks her if she’s ok and she gives that noise of affirmation again, not trusting her voice; she doesn’t know why she persists with lying. She needs the bathroom but she feels dizzy and her stomach is churning. She starts taking steady breaths, trying to open up her lungs and calm her heart.

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll get you something to eat,” Will offers and he’s out of bed before she can respond. But she’s out of bed before he can get back. She needs to pee, but of course moving around doesn’t help her stomach and for a second, when she gets to the toilet, she’s not sure which she should attend to first. She sits and she hears Will come back into the bedroom. She hasn’t closed the bathroom door, just pushed it, and so it’s still open a crack. He taps on it lightly with a knuckle, asks if she’s ok and while she rolls her eyes in annoyance, she just tells him she needs a minute. Thankfully, he backs off. But she still feels irritated. It’s mostly at how she feels, but seeing as he’s a good target she takes it out on him.

When she comes out of the bathroom, Will is sitting on her side of the bed with a glass of water and a packet of dry crackers. She gets back into bed, and he hands over the supplies he’s gathered. Mackenzie leans back on her pillow, trying to breathe evenly while she starts sipping at the water. She takes a cracker from the packet. Will hovers a bit and she’s just about to ask him if he’s going to watch her eat the whole lot when he scuffs off to the bathroom. She nibbles at the cracker, with little desire to actually eat, but keeping still always helps with the nausea.

When Will comes out of the bathroom he asks her if she actually wants breakfast but she shakes her head. He sits by her feet, combs a hand through his hair, ducking his head to meet his hand and he looks wary. She asks him how much sleep he got last night. He looks over at her, “How much sleep did you get?”

His tone is combative and Mackenzie washes away dry cracker with a mouthful of water before changing the subject. “Did you hear Maggie’s taking the job in DC?”

“Yeah I heard,” Will says shortly.

Mackenzie takes another cracker and nibbles on it, all about ceasing conversation than any desire to actually eat it. He’s clearly crabby, and she doesn’t want to fight; she feels rotten. Will doesn’t say anything else and the silence becomes uncomfortable. When Mackenzie finishes the second cracker she tells him she’s going to shower. He grunts a response and gets up so she can get out of bed. She doesn’t feel great, but she doesn’t retch, isn’t sick and she manages to dress and get ready for work without feeling like she might need to dash to the toilet. Will disappears while she gets ready and when she emerges from the bedroom she finds him on the couch, head dropped over the back of the furniture, legs stretched out onto the coffee table. The TV is on but the sound is down so low Mackenzie can barely hear it. His eyes are closed but she’s not sure he’s asleep. She goes to the kitchen, opens the fridge, thinks about breakfast but then decides to pass. She’s not hungry and her stomach still feels a bit iffy.

She goes back to Will but he hasn’t moved. So he’s asleep. She sees a notepad on the table where she left it last night and scrawls out a message for him. Then she carefully places it on his stomach and goes to work.

 

**********

 

Will wakes with a start. His neck twinges and he sits, gripping his neck, feeling a knot of muscles bunching on the left side. Damn. Something slides off his stomach and hits the floor. He tries stretching his neck out while he also reaches to pick up the notepad. It’s a message from Mackenzie:

 

_Thanks for breakfast in bed (too bad I didn’t earn it the night before). Love you babe. Meet me for lunch. xxx_

 

Will sighs and drops the notepad on the table. He checks his watch. He’s been asleep for hours. So, so much for that plan working. Actually it did, she ate, but he was kind of hoping to talk with her, spend some time with her before she was gone for the day. Too bad he often wakes up grumpy. Especially when it took him forever to get to sleep last night. But ok, he can try again, and he will.

He wants to call Mackenzie, because he _misses_ her but knows that he shouldn’t. She’s busy with her new job and he shouldn’t disturb a day he knows is already demanding with his annoying neediness. And then he realises that they haven’t talked about her new job. They’ve barely talked at all in the last week (god, has it been a week?), sure, but have they so specifically _not_ talked about her new job? It’s odd to go from being so involved with each other (when they weren’t involved) to this, to this… He’s not sure of the right word, but it feels like a barrier. A glass wall. Where he can see her and he can recognise her, but he’s not allowed to know her. It feels worse than when they weren’t together.

He types out three different messages. The first starting with ‘I miss you’ and backtracking several times to a much less intense ‘what can I get you for lunch today?’ He doesn’t mean for it to sound like he’s… asking her permission, but after he’s sent it and he’s reading it over again (and thinking he could have put ‘I love you’ on there after all) he thinks maybe it sounds petulant? Or strange. Maybe he should have put one of those smiley face things on it. Maybe he should just call her. He puts his phone down and walks away from it.

He has so much time on his hands. Even though he’s slept in, he still has time to kill before getting ready for work. He tries to remember what he did with all this time before. Before prison; before he married Mackenzie. He thinks he probably tried to work and distract himself from thinking about Mackenzie. Which is all he seems to have been able to do from the minute she walked into his life more than six years ago. But now, she’s here, all around him, in the blend of ornaments on the mantle and photographs of their families. A wedding photo and the baby books. Her clothes in the bed, in the closet; her toiletries in the shower. The smell of her in the rooms, as he walks around the empty apartment and comes to settle, once again, in the guest room, which will now, almost certainly, be a nursery.

He doesn’t hear his phone ring.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie hangs onto the call until it goes to voicemail and then hangs it up. It’s odd Will hasn’t answered his phone, he’s rarely without it, but that’s not – he could be in the bathroom for all she knows. She texts him back instead: she’d love some of the potato salad from the deli up the road, but only if they’ve made it that morning, please, if he doesn’t mind going to get it, but if not, she’ll just have a sandwich, that’s also fine. And then she goes back to work. She’s had an incredibly productive morning. She’s offered Maggie the new job in DC; contracts signed, she’ll leave in two weeks. She talked to Jim about hiring someone to replace her (and by the way, he needs to promote someone to senior producer, or hire someone new for that position as well); he suggested it might be time to give Jenna more responsibility. Mackenzie lets him decide. He’ll have to deal with the fallout if she can’t hack it, but Mackenzie knows he’s careful and will make sure she’s supervised the right way, so the integrity of the news and their team are protected, and so Jenna can learn.

Mackenzie’s even managed to squeeze in a phone call from Dr Mottola to talk about the ultrasound and the confusion over the due date (the technician was right, Mottola had gone off Mackenzie’s assuredness of the last time she had had sex with Will probably being the night she got pregnant, which was wrong. She was already pregnant when he went to prison and the hCG parameters are so wide they wouldn’t have clued Katherine in). She assures Mackenzie that everything with the baby seems great and it makes Mackenzie’s chest feel tight. With relief. She asks about the pre-natal vitamins. Is there going to be a problem because she only just started taking them? Dr Mottola won’t know until they do the CVS and future ultrasounds, but she does tell Mackenzie to not worry, they’ll make sure to look carefully.

It’s fine. She’s not worried (she’s a little worried). It’s only two weeks. But it is two weeks less now that she has to get used to the idea that she’s going to be a mother, and it means she has two weeks less time to prepare for telling Pruit. Pruit, who keeps demanding things of her that she can’t deliver because she doesn’t know how. She has to constantly run to Grady to get him to explain to her how accounts and budgets work and vacation days and legal contracts; and get answers to the inane questions Pruit asks to test her. She doesn’t know how he even knows what to ask, because, hasn’t he only taken over the network a few months ago? How did he get up to speed so quickly? (And how can Mackenzie?) She suspects her grace period with him is over, because on day two she shot herself in the foot by taking a stand over fucking Twitter. It was going to happen at some point, but she could have given herself the rest of the week to settle.

Never mind.

Sometimes she’s not very good at tact.

It’s fine, though. She’s not worried. She can handle Pruit (has dealt with bigger arses than him in her life – she put up with Will after all…) but she could have done with a minute to breathe first. Eventually, she’s going to have to tell him she’s pregnant and is going to be taking a whole lot of maternity leave. Right as she’s just been hired. And underneath that is this thing with Will. She’s not sure how to describe it, but she knows it’s there now. He’s withdrawing into himself and she can feel the tug of them pulling apart. She just hopes the threads hold until she can drop something else and focus on him again. Before too much damage is done. She only has so many hands for juggling.

She can’t bear it when he broods. It makes her feel helpless. And it’s even worse now because she’s so very aware that she’s not being there for him. And that she’s being impatient and a little cruel.

His best friend died.

And he’s going to be a Daddy

 

**********

 

He doesn’t respond to her message for three hours (she’s not counting), when she’s meeting with Grady again, who’s holding her hand (she’s hanging on so desperately she feels she’s drowning anyway) so she can go back to Pruit with his ‘please explain’ and her ‘yeah, what have you go next?’ stand-off they’re having; it’s not clear yet who’s winning. Maybe Mackenzie. She hasn’t faltered yet. Thanks to Grady. Even though she’s clearly taking up a lot of his time (she goes to his office to find him and discovers his desk is _swamped_ , worse than hers is). But it feels like a near thing and she’s too tired to do anything but tread the water and keep her head above it; she’ll figure out how to get Pruit to back off later.

It feels like she has to deal with _every_ thing later.

“Excuse me a moment,” she says to her deputy and types out a quick reply to her husband. “Will,” she explains with a smile.

Grady gives a nod and turns back to the papers on his desk. They go back to work and about fifteen minutes later, Mackenzie’s phone buzzes again. She has to stop and pick it up. “Will again,” she gives an apologetic quirk of her mouth. Grady puts down his pen and Mackenzie looks down at the screen, with a sudden impression that Grady is getting annoyed. To be fair, she stops _every_ time her phone goes off, not just when it’s Will; she has to be available.

Grady’s been amazingly helpful this week, but not particularly friendly; professional to the point of clipped. But then Mackenzie’s seen the stack of files all over his desk, so maybe he’s under just as much pressure as she is. And she’s not helping by having to constantly ask him for help. She puts her phone down again.

“Grady,” Mackenzie starts and he looks up at her. She thinks he’s about her age, maybe slightly older, and it suddenly occurs to her, that if he was also Charlie’s deputy, then he might have expected to be promoted instead of her. “Can I just say? I _really_ appreciate your help this week. I don’t think I could have done this without you. And it’s really appreciated and…” She trails off. “Thank you.”

Grady gives a nod, but his eyes stay serious. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Please,” Mackenzie invites.

“When I first heard you’d been promoted above me, I was angry. I put in a lot of hours here,” he spreads his hands across his desk and the mess of files on it. Mackenzie shrinks a little in her seat. “And it felt like a slight.”

“It was _not_ my intention –”

Grady holds up a hand to stop her. “But then I saw what this job did to Charlie and realised that actually, I’d rather be a second. I get to go home and spend time with my wife and kids and leave the job at home.”

Mackenzie blinks at that. “You have kids?”

“Two girls,” Grady smiles. “I don’t envy you your job Mackenzie.” His expression finally softens. “And if I can help you transition into it, that’s fine. But I will be glad when I can hand some of this back.”

Mackenzie nods. “Thank you,” she says again. “For the help with the transition.”

Grady goes back to his paper work and Mackenzie feels a wave of helplessness wash over her, threatening to unsettle her feet from the sand.

“I think you’d be better suited to the job than I would,” Grady adds thoughtfully, turning a page as if it’s merely another conversation about finance. “Seeing as you used to be an EP.” He looks over at her and she just sits there. “You’re better prepared to handle anything thrown at you from any direction. My wife watches News Night. She says that since you came on board and changed it up, it’s a much better show.”

Mackenzie could cry.

 


	14. Chapter 14

It goes downhill from there. Her day. It unravels. She’s tired and it starts to overwhelm her and when more and more piles up on her desk she wants to cry with the frustration of it. When Will comes to her with lunch she is actually at her desk, but she’s distracted and she only half listens to him while he tries to talk to her. When her phone rings and she reaches for it automatically, even though Will is mid-sentence, his face falls. Mackenzie sees it though and when the screen shows Pruit’s number, she puts it down again. She gives her attention back to her husband. He stares at her. “Are you going to answer that?”

“It doesn’t look like it, does it?” She says, twisting the cap off her bottle of water.

“It’s not important?” Will presses.

“More important than having lunch with my husband?” Mackenzie counters.

“I could think of half a dozen more –”

“Nothing is more important _right now_ ,” Mackenzie clarifies firmly, putting the water down.

Will looks at her a moment longer and then goes back to his meatball sub. Mackenzie watches _him_ a moment longer and feels a strange sensation, like she’s looking at a stranger. She shakes it off but they eat in silence.

“Thank you for lunch,” she starts, because she’s never been good at silence.

“Is it ok?” Will asks.

“Yeah,” she smiles at him. “Perfect. I did like the apple juice though.”

“The other day?” He raises his eyebrows at her.

She nods, “It was sweet.”

“Ok, well, I could get that again.”

“I meant that you brought me apple juice, but yes, if you wanted to get me some more, that would be ok.”

Will gives a nod, wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Have you taken your pre-natal’s today?”

Mackenzie shakes her head as she pops the last of her sandwich into her mouth. “But thank you for reminding me.” She brushes the bread crumbs from the tip of her fingers as she chews, and pulls open her desk drawer. It’s full of stationary and one of the bottles of pills. She taps one out and swallows it down with water. Will finishes his lunch and clears up the rubbish and Mackenzie picks up the little bin tucked under her desk for him to toss it into; nothing but net.

“You have to get back to work?” Will asks, but it doesn’t sound entirely like a question.

“I do,” Mackenzie gestures to the pile of folders stacked on each side of Charlie’s desk. “If I’m not watching it, this lot multiplies.” She gets to her feet and comes around to walk him to the door. “Thank you for lunch. I’m glad we actually got to eat it together today.”

“I suspect you’re ignoring important–”

“Will,” Mackenzie whines. “All of it is important at exactly the same time so that I’m completely–”

Will plants a kiss on her, thoroughly shutting her up, even if it’s just a peck on her open mouth. “Are you going to stay tonight for the show?”

“I-I don’t know,” she stumbles, looking up at him, heart beating harder; no longer a stranger. “I think it depends _entirely_ on what Pruit wants.”

“Ok. Let me know,” Will suggests and pulls her office door open and leaves.

Mackenzie’s phone rings again, so she pulls herself from watching her husband depart to answer it. It’s Pruit again.

“Why weren’t you answering your phone?” He asks in lieu of a greeting.

“I was in the loo,” Mackenzie says flatly.

There’s a moment of dead air. “Come to my office, I want to talk to you,” Pruit demands, but his tone is a little gentler. Then again, he doesn’t wait for her to respond, he hangs up. Mackenzie looks at the mound of paper work on her desk (has it gained in height since she said goodbye to Will?), considers blowing her boss off and resuming with her regular workload; debates about going to see what it is he wants to talk to her about. The thought of another argument depletes her of energy and she sinks to her chair. She’ll make him sweat awhile, then she’ll go and see what he wants.

 

**********

 

“Uh Will?”

“Yeah?” He grouches, looking down the barrel of the camera in front of him.

“Can you trim ten seconds from the next segment? We’re going to run over,” Jim asks politely.

“Sure,” Will answers flatly. He glances at his phone but it’s dark. He leans down and lights up the screen: no messages. He assumes that means Mackenzie is still in the building and he really wants to get to her. He wants to go up and drag her home and that way he can take care of her. Cook her dinner (supper. She should have already had dinner) and put her into bed and cuddle up with her. And maybe smooth the crease of worry that has carved itself into her forehead. Jim’s still talking to him so Will jots the note and then transitions into the next segment. After broadcast, as he’s tugging his earpiece out, he’s also dialling her number.

“Hey you,” she answers and he thinks he can hear her smile.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, feeling breathless with hearing her voice; he heads out of the studio.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she says, but doesn’t sound confident.

“I’m coming to get you, so pack it up,” he tells her anyway.

“Ok,” she says quietly.

Will pushes into his office, listening to silence for a while. “Mac?”

“Yeah?”

He pauses. “Are you ok?”

“Yes Will,” her tone comes back sharper than before. “I’m _fine_. I’m tired all right? Fuck.”

“Get ready to leave,” Will instructs her gruffly and hangs up, anger flaring in response to her tone. He doesn’t rush to get changed to give him the chance to calm down again, so he doesn’t storm up there and remind her that he’s not the bad guy and could she give him a fucking break? This is hard on him too. He just wants to know that his wife is ok, especially when it seems she’s _not_ ok. He doesn’t want to fight (even though he can feel it brewing) and he really doesn’t want to have an almighty screaming match while they’re still in the AWM building.

By the time he gets upstairs Mackenzie is leaning over her computer screen, shutting it down and he gets a perfect view of her very nice ass. “Hey,” she says to him without glancing over. Her desk has been tidied into piles of folders and her bag sits on top; she’s obviously ready to go. He stands and waits for her and when she finally straightens up, she turns towards him first, and, for a second, he can see right down the front of her shirt (wow, her breasts really have gotten bigger). She watches him for a moment and he raises an arm to gesture to the door, suggesting without words that they should go and he doesn’t mean to act like he’s mad at her, but he realises it’s coming across that way. Mackenzie steels herself before picking up her bag and walking towards the door. Not towards him, she goes straight for the door. He follows her out and they step into the already waiting elevator together. Will reaches to jab the button to head down at the same time Mackenzie does. She ends up pushing at his fingers so after he thrusts the button, he takes her hand. They stand side by side in the elevator, and Mackenzie drops her head to his shoulder with a sigh; this is how they started this week. It’s only been a week.

“Are you hungry?” Will asks gently.

“A little,” Mackenzie admits.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she had dinner but the doors of the car ping open and Mackenzie steps out, pulling him along behind her, still holding hands. They even pass through the security turnstiles without letting go of each other and that feels good. It feels like something positive, even if it’s tentative.

Mackenzie stands at the curb and hails a cab and they go home, sitting in the back of the car, still holding hands, but not talking. _Thank fuck it’s Friday_ , Will thinks, because he really needs to talk to his wife, and at least on the weekend, she’s not going to be distracted by work (touch wood. He can’t find anything wooden in the cab so settles for touching the doorframe of their building as they go in. But he’s not superstitious).

Mackenzie drops her bag to the floor of the entrance way, tossing it against the wall and they both hook keys onto the wall by the door at the same time. “How domestic,” Mackenzie murmurs, looking up at him for a second, her eyes dark in the single light overhead. Will also notices the smudges of shadows under her eyes and the way she squints slightly, like her eyes are sore, or out of focus.

“Come on,” he nudges her forward. “Let’s feed you and take you to bed.”

“That sounded inviting.”

“To sleep,” he clarifies even though, with the way she’s pressed up against him, it _is_ an invitation, from her. “You’re exhausted,” he adds. He walks her into the kitchen and leaves her standing by the bench. He goes to the fridge. “What can I get you?” When he looks over his shoulder she’s frowning slightly, then seems to get hold of herself and takes a seat on one of the stools. He hears the clatter of her shoes hitting the tile.

“I don’t really know what I feel like.”

Will opens the fridge. With all his free time in the mornings he’s had groceries delivered, proper ones, fruit and vegetables. He offers her a banana, an apple, tinned peaches, everything (carrot sticks, frozen peas, cheese cubes), all of which she turns down. He gives up on the fridge, opens the pantry. “Toast?” He turns to her with the loaf of bread.

“Actually, do you know what I suddenly want?”

“No,” Will says.

“Banana on toast. With cinnamon.”

Will gives her a slight frown. “If it gets you to eat, I’ll do it.”

Mackenzie pouts at him. “I eat – you don’t remember making it for me when I was sick?”

“I remember,” Will says softly. “I wondered if you had grown out of it.”

“Never,” Mackenzie grins.

Will drops toast into the toaster and grabs a banana from the fridge. Mackenzie slides from the stool, excuses herself to the bathroom. As she passes through the bedroom she notices the bed isn’t made. Typical Will. He doesn’t see the point if he’s just going to mess it up again, and before now, he had a housekeeper, who would make it for him.

“Toast is ready,” Will informs her as she comes back into the kitchen.

She takes her place at the bench again and waiting for her are two pieces of toast, sliced banana with a dusting of cinnamon. “More cinnamon,” she declares.

“That’s not enough?” He sounds a little horrified.

“No, Billy,” Mackenzie tells him. He passes her the spice and she douses the banana with more.

“I can’t believe you like that. You can’t eat breakfast but you can eat that?”

“I should _have_ this for breakfast,” Mackenzie muses. 

“If it means you eat something in the mornings…” Will starts.

Mackenzie huffs at him, her mouth full of bread and fruit. She rolls her eyes and before Will turns away to make himself something to eat, he sees; his mouth draws into a tight line. Mackenzie crunches toast into silence until the extractor fan goes on and Will starts to fry eggs. She finishes before him and they trade places. He sits at the breakfast bar while she clears the kitchen. “Leave it,” Will tells her. “I’ll clean up.”

“It’s fine,” Mackenzie brushes him off.

“Really, leave them.”

“I’ve got it,” Mackenzie insists, tidying anyway.

“Mackenzie, I’ll do–”

“I can do the dishes Will!” She says sharply. “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”

Will purses his lips again but goes back to his eggs. Mackenzie stacks the dishwasher and wipes down the bench and then rounds the breakfast bar to plant a kiss on the side of his head. “Thanks for feeding me babe.”

Will turns his head towards her slightly as she starts to walk away, but he doesn’t say anything. Mackenzie elects to have a quick shower and get changed for bed. Stripping off her work clothes and sloughing the day (the week) down the drain feels wonderful; she flat out refuses to think about work and trying to resolve the problems. Every time her mind drifts she pulls it back. She wants to think about the weekend ahead, about spending time with her husband, going to buy new bras, and oh, the baby. They should spend some time doing baby stuff. She hasn’t picked up the pregnancy book in a week and now she has two extra weeks to get through to catch up to the baby’s actual gestation. She doesn’t shower in water that’s too warm, because raising her body temperate makes her feel ill, but slipping on clean pyjamas feels great (and it feels delightful to be able to take her bra off). Back in the bedroom, she decides to change the sheets. Fresh sheets for the weekend sounds great too; slipping into them tonight, at the end of one of the longest weeks of her life, sounds even better.

When she goes to the hall cupboard to get fresh linens she hears the scrape of Will’s stool on the kitchen tile. She doesn’t mean to snap at him, but she could really do without being harassed about how she’s _not_ doing something for at least the rest of the day; it’s bad enough coming from Pruit. She’d love to just crawl into bed with Will and have him hold her tightly until she falls asleep (which will probably be in five minutes flat, if she’s honest), and  maybe tell her that she’s not a total failure at everything right now. She’s lifting the corner of the mattress closest to the door when he comes in, so she can tuck the fitted sheet beneath it.

“Mac! What are you doing?” He asks loudly, walking towards her quickly. He bends to take the sheet from her hands but she yanks it back.

“Jesus _Christ_ Will!” She explodes and tosses the sheet in a fit. Will stands in front of her bewildered. “I’m _pregnant,_ not _fucking_ invalided. I can make the fucking bed!”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Really wonderful comments (and kudos), thank you!

Mackenzie stalks to her dresser and turns back to him; his face has clouded. “Can you just stop fucking _harassing_ me every–”

“I’m sorry for giving a fuck about my pregnant wife!” Will shouts back, gesturing heavily with one hand, his other on his hip; his wedding band glinting in the dim light.

“ _God,_ you’ve got to lay _off_!” She yells. And then she stops. Because she just heard what he said. And what she said. She puts her hands to her face, covering her mouth and nose, fingertips framing under her eyes; horrified. She goes to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles into her hands and then reaches down to take his. “I’ve had the shittiest week,” she looks up at him imploringly.

Will doesn’t tug his hands away, but something closes off in his eyes, a micro-second of glancing away from her; his body turning away. Tears well in her eyes suddenly. “God, Will, I’m _sorry_ –”

“Why is it nothing I do is right anymore?”

“It _is_ right!” She insists and the tears choke up her throat.

Will blinks at her. He seems surprised.

She gives a half laugh, half-sob and swallows hard; she’s not crying. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“You’re pregnant,” Will points out softly.

“I know! It’s _all_ I should be thinking about at the moment but – you’re right, I should be eating better and getting enough rest but I just can’t seem to –”

Will pulls her to sit on the bed next to him.

“I feel so overwhelmed,” Mackenzie confesses to the carpet. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. You’re sweet and I’m sorry – you made me banana on toast.” She gives him a soft expression. “You’re doing everything right and I’m–”

“Not everything,” Will counters. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you’re feeling or thinking – I miss you and I’m just trying to do something to –”

Mackenzie looks up at him and tears spring to her eyes again. “I’m right here.”

“No. I miss you in my ear during broadcast and I miss that I can’t walk next door to your office and see you and I miss – your legs.”

Mackenzie laughs. “My legs?”

“You have great legs.”

“Thank you.”

“I got used to you being around,” he waves a hand in the air, a filler until he can find the words to explain. “And now you’re on the twenty-first floor and you’re gone when I wake up in the morning and you’re so tired –”

“It’s just been a hell of a first week –”

“You’re pregnant. I want to take care of you. Kind of what I signed up for,” he rubs his thumb against the underside of her wedding and engagement rings, and it makes her stomach feel squirmy in a way that has nothing to do with the baby.

“You do take care of me Billy,” Mackenzie says in a small voice. “I never meant – when you bring me food, I do _eat_ it. That’s what I need.”

Will sighs. “You’re doing everything and I’m doing nothing.”

“I just said you feed me.”

“You’re growing another person, our baby, while I just sit and… watch.”

“You were kind of an active participant when –”

“That was then and now, it’s all you and I just want –”

“It’s not _all me_ ,” Mackenzie tries to counter.

“It is. You’re growing it and you’ll give birth to it and then you’ll feed it and I’ll sit by –”

“You better not sit by anything –”

“On the benches.”

“ _Not_ on the benches, Rudy. You’re in the game. I’m just not passing you the ball…” Mackenzie trails off and sighs. She rubs a hand against her forehead and gets up from the bed, letting go of his hand. “It’s this _job_. It’s completely nuts and I’m insane for thinking I can _do this_.”

“You _can_ do this,” Will looks up at her, innocent expression, absolutely believing in her.

“Do you know what Grady said to me today?”

“Grady is an –”

“He said he doesn’t envy me this job.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s –”

“He said he did it for three days when Charlie died and that was enough for him to realise he _didn’t want to do it_. He’s happy being second, because the pressure is too much.”

“Well, Grady is –”

“Actually a good guy, Will, I don’t know what your problem is with him but –”

“He has a problem with me.”

“He’s been _quite_ incredible this week.”

Will gives her an unimpressed expression.

“I’m serious. With me running to him _literally_ every five minutes.”

“Do you mean literally as in literally, or literally as in figuratively?”

“Literally. I’ve _literally_ been running to him every _five_ minutes to ask him how the hell to do, ok no, it’s more like every hour – God! I wish Charlie hadn’t died, so he could just _tell me_ how to do this.” She turns to her husband, eyes wide. “Shit Will, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – God, Charlie _died_ a week ago and we haven’t even – I haven’t even been there for you,” she sits beside him on the bed again, placing a hand on his upper arm, tears in her eyes. He looks over at her, his face just shy of wounded and she feels it in her chest. “He was your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend,” Will answers immediately.

“That’s sweet, but _Charlie_ was your best friend.”

“He was my best friend when you weren’t but,” he shrugs. “He was my best guy friend, yeah.”

“You miss him?” But it’s not a question. Will doesn’t answer her either. “You went straight back to work. Do you want to take some time off?”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. You’re sleeping with the boss. Well, not _sleeping_ with the boss,” she adds bitterly.

“You think Pruit would go for that?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Mackenzie says loftily. “I, on the other hand, might.”

“I think Pruit might notice his anchor isn’t –”

“Would you help me hide a body?”

“You know I’d go to prison for you,” Will says, far more intensely than she was expecting.

Mackenzie blinks. “And then there’s that. A week ago you were inside.”

Will gives that dismissive pout and shrug of his mouth and shoulders and it makes Mackenzie shove at his upper arm and get up again. She paces, “you don’t have to be so damn…”

“Kind of like how you refuse to acknowledge that you’re pregnant?”

“I _acknowledge_ that I’m pregnant,” Mackenzie gives him a frown.

Will shakes his head. “You aren’t though. You haven’t done anything different –”

“My entire _life_ is different!” Mackenzie exclaims, throwing her hands up as she spins towards him. “I get up at _seven_ a.m.! I can’t remember the last time I got up that early.”

Actually, yes she can. They were accidentally in Pakistan and they were being shot at. Except that was more like 4 a.m. and Will doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s got nothing to do with the pregnancy!” Will interjects.

“I get up at seven a.m.,” Mackenzie repeats. “For my _job –_ what am I supposed to do about being pregnant? Sleep in? I wish I _had_ that luxury. If I don’t get to work, I’m pretty sure Charlie’s desk is going to collapse under the _weight_ of the paperwork that keeps piling up on top of it. And Pruit – You know what? No one actually asked me if I wanted to do this job –”

“Do you want to do this job?”

“Yes!” Mackenzie throws her hands up again as she turns the other way to start pacing again. “Yes I want to do this job but it feels so –”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yes!” She exclaims, turning to him. “I didn’t get a transition.”

“The first time you took a show as EP, did you get transition?”

“No, I was thrown in at the deep end, but I did at least get –”

“And did you drown?”

“A little, yeah,” she says haughtily.

Will stands and grabs her hand, sits back on the bed and pulls her towards him so she’s standing between his legs. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“Your job is a piece of piss.”

“Hardly, but I was talking about the baby.”

“I _am_ taking it seriously Will. I just… I don’t have time. I don’t have _any_ time.”

“Make time,” he says simply and he suddenly thinks of Habib and what he said about grieving for Charlie. Maybe they’re both letting things slide this week, but he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to grieve. He’s not angry; he’s not in denial; who is he going to bargain with?

“I’m not sure where I’m meant to get a couple of _extra hours_ a day – do you think they have them down at Walmart?”

“I’m supposed to do extra chores.”

“At Walmart?”

“Here. For you – so you don’t have to do them.”

Mackenzie studies the earnest expression in front of her, then frowns. She moves to sit in his lap. “I don’t understand.”

“To help you. You’re pregnant, I’m meant to pick up the slack.”

“Is that the law?”

“The books say –”

“I haven’t even read the books!”

“I should do extra chores –”

“Ok, you can do extra chores.”

“All of them. Like changing the bed.”

Mackenzie narrows her eyes at him. “Are you going to hire someone to pick up after us?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“We talked about this. I’m not comfortable with a _stranger_ snooping through our things.”

“They’re professionals –”

“Still strangers.”

“Mackenzie –”

“We’re more than capable. I’ll –”

“Fine,” he raises his voice to drown her out. “I’ll do it.”

“All of it?” She asks innocently.

“Yeah.”

“Laundry, dishes, cleaning. You’ll go pick up the dry cleaning?”

“Yeah,” he repeats. “Well, I have an assistant to do that.”

She gives him a small, slightly amused smile, as if the idea of him cleaning is funny.

“I know how to clean,” Will tells her grumpily.

“I know,” is all she says because she remembers him tidying her apartment when they were first dating and she was too busy to pick up and he was waiting on her to get ready for a date. He did the dishes and stacked her mail and it was so hideously domestic it freaked her out for two weeks straight. She didn’t invite him over for a while after that. And it seems so funny now because she knows the reason she freaked out was because she was falling for him, and liked that he did her dishes, but so desperately didn’t understand what was happening.

“Let’s go to bed,” Will says softly. “You’re falling asleep sitting here.”

Mackenzie leans forward and drops her head to his shoulder; she’s not, ok, maybe she is a little. She turns her cheek, so her face is pressed into his neck and sits there a moment, just breathing him in. “Mm you smell good,” she moves back to look him in the eye. His go slightly wider with surprise. “Are you wearing something?”

“You told me not to. I changed my deodorant.”

She leans forward again, sniffs at his armpit, his shirt, then back to his neck; nuzzling. “I think it’s just you.”

“I think you should stop sniffing me. We’re supposed to be going to bed.”

“I just wanted fresh sheets for the weekend. After this week, I really just wanted fresh sheets.”

“You brush your teeth, and I’ll change the bed. Every Friday, so you have fresh sheets for the weekend. But I’m going to hire someone to clean, because I’m too old to get down to scrub the tiles in the shower. And I’ll be here the whole time, so no one can snoop, I promise.”

Mackenzie sighs and nods, and wiggles in his lap a little but that doesn’t seem to change his mind either. “Yeah.” She moves, stands and goes to brush her teeth. When she gets back the bed is changed but Will is gone. As she’s climbing under the covers she hears the snap of a light switch in the hall and he comes in; he’s changed for bed as well.

“You’re coming to sleep now?”

“Well,” Will shrugs and gets in next to her. She settles so she’s facing him and he does the same and she feels the whisper of his hand beneath the covers against her hip, but it sails away again so she grabs for it, lands it safely on her hip and he shifts a little closer so he doesn’t have to stretch. Mackenzie brings a hand up to his cheek, runs her fingers down the roughness of day old blonde stubble.

“I like that you come to bed with me. Even if you don’t stay. Falling asleep with you here is nice.”

“I’m afraid I’d never see –”

“You get up again? After I’m asleep.”

“Yes.”

“Then, Billy, are you getting enough sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because you got up early a couple of times this week and I –”

“I am,” he tells her firmly.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she corrects.

“No,” he admits. “I went to see Habib this week.”

“You did?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“Yeah.”

But he doesn’t elaborate and so Mackenzie asks him how it went and he tells her it was good and she’s glad. She doesn’t add that it makes her feel a little sad, that she doesn’t know how to help him, but glad that if he’s getting support from somewhere, then it can’t be all a disaster.

“I worry about you too, you know,” Mackenzie tells him, her eyes flickering. She closes them for a second, forces them open again.

“Go to sleep.”

“No,” she says bluntly, almost petulant. “We’re talking.”

“We can talk all weekend.”

“And I want to, but, I also want you to talk to me now.”

“I am talking to you,” he says gently, almost a whisper.

“Billy, we’re going to do better,” she brushes her hand against his chest.

“I know.”

“Tomorrow, you and me, all day. We can do whatever you want,” she brushes her fingers against his nipple (by accident) and feels him tremor.

He shifts his hand from her hip to take her fingers from his chest. He presses them against his mouth, then holds them down on the mattress; like she needs supervision. “While that sounds incredible, I’ll be happy doing whatever you feel up to doing.”

Mackenzie blinks at him. “I really need to go shopping.”

“I take it back –”

“You can’t, and I _need_ new shirts. My breasts are threatening to escape the ones I have now.” She watches as his eyes flicker down to her chest. “So, so long as you’re going to be attached to my hip,” she adds. She gives up and closes her eyes.

“So long as it’s not all day – can it just not be all day shopping?”

“Ok. But I’m going to need to look at shoes.”

“What – you have a ton of shoes.”

“Yes, but, while we’re out, I’m going to need to _look_ ,” she opens her eyes to look at him again.

“Fine,” he sighs.

She shifts her head to kiss him, just a press of her lips against his; barely even that because she’s practically asleep. And then she is asleep, right in the middle of their bed.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Mackenzie drifts out of sleep, feeling warm and _rested_ , and when she’s aware enough to realise she’s awake she reaches out a hand for the side of the bed she thinks her husband is on. She connects with a solid mass, warm, and it says good morning to her. She smiles, eyes still closed, “Good morning.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” she murmurs, stretching out onto her back before curling her knees up towards her stomach. And then she realises she needs the bathroom and pushes herself up on a hand, glancing down at her husband who is lying on his side facing her, looking wide awake, and who has a book in his hand.

“Where are you going?” He asks, when she makes to get out of bed.

“I really need the loo,” she gives him an apologetic expression and climbs off the mattress. When she comes back she sees the clock. “Jesus you let me sleep until ten?”

“You’re –”

“I know,” Mackenzie grouches. She’s exhausted. And she feels much better for such a long sleep – probably close to ten hours, minus the fifteen minutes it took to go to the bathroom at four in the morning (she thinks she’s just torturing herself with looking at the time, but oh well). She scoots across the bed until she’s within the circle of her husband’s arms, and lays an arm over his waist, her face into his neck. He huffs at her, but he doesn’t push her away. “What are you reading?” She asks innocently.

“Uh, Mayo Clinic’s Guide.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s about pregnancy.”

“Nice one _funny man_ , tell me about what you’re reading. No, go back a couple of weeks and tell me what I’ve _missed_. Does our kid have fingers yet?” Her breath tickles against his neck and she wonders if that does anything for him, because it does something for her, lying this close to him.

“Yeah, fingers and wrists and elbows and ankles.”

“Really?” Mackenzie pulls back a little to look at him. “I thought it’d still be a blob.”

“No, it’s – at ten weeks it’s considered a foetus now.”

Mackenzie feels a rush of heat to her cheeks. “Ok,” she says, her voice feeling shaky. “It’s already a foetus? What was it before that?”

“An embryo. It’s got lungs and its brain and kidneys are all there. And it’s meant to be growing bones about now.”

“How big is it?”

“Uh,” Will looks over her, to the book. He flicks back a page. “I read it somewhere – about an inch and a half.”

It’s huge.

“Anything else?”

“Just lots of growing and less looking like a blob.”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie says, almost a whisper. Has she been avoiding acknowledging she’s pregnant? She’s not sure. But it does freak her out sometimes; she’s only had a week to get used to the idea and it feels like it’s going so quickly; she’s already ten weeks along. “I don’t even feel pregnant,” she complains. “I mean, yeah, I’ve noticed my _boobs_ hurt and have gotten huge, I feel sick most of the time and I need to pee a _million_ times a day, but I can’t feel the baby there and so it doesn’t feel real to me until I hear how it’s got lungs and ankles and then it feels –”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah!” She half laughs, because there doesn’t seem to be a better adjective.

“Well, the first trimester is nearly over so,” Will starts rifling through the book, flicking forward.  
“Wait,” Mackenzie pulls back even further, knocks the book out of his grip behind her. She blinks at him a second. “The first trimester is nearly over?” She repeats but it’s not much of a question because she can do math. “Ugh that means I have – I’m going to have to tell Pruit.”

“In a couple of weeks. There’s still time for us to get our head around –”

“He’s going to flip his lid.”

“He can –”

“Oh Grady!”

“Geeze, what about Grady?” Will gripes.

“He was just telling me how he doesn’t want to do my job and if I take leave then –”

“Not if, Mackenzie, when. You’re going to take time off.”

“Of course I will but –”

“You’re not going to give birth in the newsroom.”

Mackenzie laughs. “No, I’m not going to give _birth_ in the newsroom. But I don’t know how much time I _will_ take off.”

“I thought, maybe, you’d want to stay at home with the baby,” Will says tentatively.

“Sure, for a little while,” she narrows her eyes at him. “Did you think I would quit my job?”

“No, I just mean, you’re entitled to, what? Twelve weeks?”

“I’ll take the twelve weeks.”

“And then go back to work?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” she says loftily, because she hasn’t thought about this, hasn’t got this far in the process of planning for a baby, and honestly, the conversation is freaking her out a little. It’s months away… It’s next year. The first trimester is nearly over already; she’s a third of the way through. “Have you already planned this out?”

“No,” Will says, slightly bewildered. “We’re having a conversation now.”

“You know those twelve weeks will be unpaid?”

“I think we can handle that,” he says assuredly.

She gives him a slight smile. “Unless Pruit has a different maternal leave policy.”

“What are the chances of that?”

“What are the chances of him even having _thought_ about that?” She sighs and turns onto her back. Will pushes himself up, so he’s leaning on an elbow, so he can still see her. Mackenzie raises a hand to his cheek, fits the palm of her hand against the curve of his jaw; his stubble much rougher now.

“Eat,” Will says gently.

“Right,” she agrees and sits up. Will stops her from getting out of bed, by indicating the nightstand, and she looks to see there’s a glass of water and a little container of the dry crackers she’s been eating on and off since she found out she was pregnant, merely a week ago. She only found out a week ago. She looks back to him. “Did you leap out of bed this morning to get this before I woke up?”

“Actually, I got it last night after you had gone to sleep. Just in case you woke before me.”

She feels tears prickle her eyes and hides it by organising the bed covers around her, sitting higher in the bed, and bunching the pillows behind her so she can lean on them. She reaches for the water. “You’re sweet,” she tells him. And she was really awful to him last night. She sits the water between her thighs and opens the container. She finds ginger biscuits in there as well as a couple of crackers. “And I’ve been horrid this week.”

“You haven’t been horrid,” Will repeats gently. “You’re –”

“Pregnant,” they say at the same time.

“Yeah,” Mackenzie adds. It’ll sink in eventually.

 

**********

 

If she were in denial, Mackenzie figures she’d be refusing to buy new clothes. She’d deny her boobs have grown and that she needs better fitting work attire. Right? Not that she needs an excuse to go shopping, but surely recognising her body is changing is not being in denial about her pregnancy. Right? She’s not sure what Will meant by it, but she makes sure to read some of the chapters in some of the many baby books he’s bought and she goes shopping. Online, because Will doesn’t want to go with her and the idea of going alone doesn’t sound appealing. He argues that she could take a friend, and she could, she supposes, except she doesn’t have many female friends (she’s been back more than three years, and she still hasn’t managed to make that happen? Oh right, she doesn’t have time. Work consumes her life and when it’s not work, it’s her husband), and she doesn’t want to bother Sloan on the weekend without any notice, in case the other woman is busy. She’d rather spend the time with her husband anyway, even if he does pull a face when she tells him she’s going to make him go to a store anyway.

Will is such a homebody, but she’s always known that. So she compromises with online shopping (scoping) and finds what she wants, then goes down to the store to try the items on. If she were more shrewd with a credit card, she’d go back online and buy everything there, where it’s cheaper, but if Will’s paying, then what does she care? After they essentially just go to pick up her orders, they go to sit in a little French café on the path home. They order croissants and sit out in the sun, watching people go by, Mackenzie’s bags safely tucked around Will’s feet.

“I like this way of shopping much better,” Will says.

Mackenzie looks over at him, the sun making his hair glow, and despite the heat of summer, he’s in jeans and a pullover. Strange man. He squints at her and she thinks he’s beautiful. She reaches over the glass topped table to squeeze his hand and he looks suspicious. “Thank you for carrying my bags.”

“Oh is that why you wanted me to come?”

“I wanted to spend time with you, you nincompoop,” Mackenzie retorts. He blanches at the insult and she tries to hide a smile.

“Why didn’t you buy shirts the other day when we were shopping?”

“This way I get to go twice and torture you with it.”

Will stares at her a second. “Tomorrow are you going to make me look at socks?”

“Not everyone wants to buy them in bulk,” she teases.

“It’s convenient,” Will huffs.

Mackenzie laughs. “No, Will, I don’t need new socks unless my feet are going to suddenly start growing, oh god,” she groans. “That could actually happen.”

“Your feet are going to grow?” Will frowns at her.

“No, my ankles will probably swell.”

“How are you going to fit in your shoes?”

“That’s a good question,” Mackenzie says, straightening up as the waitress arrives with pastry and butter and jam. She sets the plates down and Mackenzie thanks her in French. The woman mutters a ‘bon’ at her and walks off. “I guess I’ll have to go shopping,” Mackenzie finishes, glancing up at Will.

“Online right?” He tries, scooping out butter from the dish and plastering the underside of his croissant.

“How will I know they fit?” Mackenzie counters, cutting her croissant, the flakes of pastry showering all over the plate and table. She opens the pastry up and slathers butter on the inside. “This is like puberty,” she muses.

“The croissant?” Will asks, sounding heavily confused.

Mackenzie laughs and looks up at him. “No, my body changing in odd ways.”

Will gives a conceding shrug of his mouth and starts eating his croissant, sans jam. Mackenzie spreads jam on the inside of her pastry, then cuts a third off the end, picks that up and takes a bite.

“Does that bother you?” Will asks as he swallows.

Mackenzie considers the question for a second. “Not so much, but it is strange. You get used to your body and then it starts behaving differently, that’s a little odd.”

Will nods and takes another large bite. He finishes his lunch quickly and brushes crumbs from his fingers. “Want another one?”

Mackenzie shakes her head.

“Something to drink?” Will offers next.

“Apple juice,” she requests.

Will stands and goes back inside. Yeah, it is strange to have her body suddenly changing again, but also a little scary. Yes, she can read a book and know what to expect, but it’s one thing to read it, and it’s another to experience it. Books can do their best, but they don’t always prepare for everything.

Will comes back with a glass of apple juice and ice and sets it down for her. A waitress follows him out a moment later with an espresso, and a filled roll. Mackenzie eyes the roll, but no, she’s not really in the mood for eating. She doesn’t feel nauseated, but her stomach does feel uneasy. She doesn’t feel like she’s going to be sick, but she feels like her stomach could turn on her at any moment. She finishes her pastry and Will tucks into his roll, chicken salad by the look of it. Mackenzie sits back with the sun on her face and closes her eyes. Today is a good day, she thinks. It was a complete ass of a week, but today is a good day. She’s being kinder to her husband and to herself and she’s doing a masterful job of banishing any intrusive work thoughts.

“We should stop in and get you more crackers on the way home,” Will says.

“Ok,” Mackenzie agrees. “Thank you for lunch,” she adds, eyes still closed.

“Thank you for shopping online.”

“Mostly,” she laughs slightly.

“It’s enough,” Will adds.

Mackenzie opens her eyes and sees him pressing the last of his sandwich against his plate to pick up some mayonnaise that has dripped out. “Love you,” she tries, a little tentative, wondering if he’ll say it back.

He looks up from his plate, his blue eyes bright in the slant of the sun. “Love you too,” he echoes without a hint of doubt.

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys leave such awesome comments (and kudos). Thank you!

Mackenzie wakes in the night. But something feels different, and when she opens her eyes, she finds the room has a dull orange glow to it. It feels like the middle of the night, but the light disorientates her and it takes a long time to figure out that her old night light is on in the en suite, and the en suite door is open so that the light can come through to the bedroom (a healthy sliver; it’s not wide open). It’s enough for her to be able to go to the bathroom by, without stumbling around in the dark, while also not being bright enough to wake her up completely. She didn’t get the light, which means that Will did (in fact, she’s pretty sure she tossed it into the bottom of a box she deliberately didn’t unpack once she had moved in with him). For her.

As she’s getting back into bed she notices the glass of water on her nightstand, and the container of dry crackers. She sits up against the pillows and reaches for the water, sipping it until it’s half gone and her stomach doesn’t feel like it’s squirming. Over the weekend, she’s tried the constant grazing theory for keeping the morning sickness at bay, and it seems to work. She doesn’t know if Will left her the water for a midnight (3.17 a.m.) snack, but she was reading on messages boards how it helped some women, so why not give it a try?

Mackenzie looks over at her husband. He’s got his back to her, asleep (or pretending). She snuggles down into bed behind him, reaches out a hand to brush her fingers against his t-shirt clad back, and then closes her eyes; he’s literally just an arm’s length away. When she wakes again, it’s to her alarm. She reaches out for it and quickly shuts it off, but Will’s awake, rolling towards her, mumbling something she doesn’t catch.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispers.

“You all right?” He asks (or repeats), facing her now in bed, but with his eyes still closed. They went to bed at the same time last night (early) but she’s not sure if he stayed or left, or if he went to sleep straight away.

“Yeah,” she tells him.

“Eat something,” he mutters.

“I will,” she says softly, but first, she has to go the bathroom (she’s not sure about drinking water at three a.m. now). And then she gets back into bed, lying mostly prone, and eats some crackers, listening to the way Will breathes (shallow, then heavy, quickly, then slowly), wondering if he’s awake or not, but not wanting to risk talking to him, in case she disturbs him. He moves a hand to her thigh under the blanket, curling his fingers around her flesh, but she still isn’t sure if he’s awake or not. She nibbles at her second cracker, picking crumbs off the shelf of her chest and thinks about the man lying next to, and partially on, her. Her husband. And they’ve survived their first week of being married and actually _being in each other’s presence_ , instead of being married for more than a month and him being in prison. But it also marks a week since Charlie died and a week since she started her new duties as News Director. That’s a lot for just one week.

She hopes, no, _knows_ , this week will be better. She’ll be better at her job, at being a wife, at preparing for being a mother. She just will.

When she finishes with the crackers she leans down and kisses Will’s head. She whispers to him that she’s going to get up now and he doesn’t answer her. But when she starts to get out of bed he gives a groan, so she tells him again. He gives a ‘hmm’ in response to that and rolls over, mashing his face into the pillow. She showers and dresses slowly (thank god for new bras), her stomach still not quite feeling right, but she does have a small amount of breakfast cereal, does her make-up, gets ready to leave the apartment. Before she goes she leans in to her husband again, nudging him a little, telling him she’s going to leave for work. He doesn’t really answer her; she gets a groan again, and she doesn’t really want to wake him.

When she gets to her office, Millie is already there. The other woman follows her in as they exchange morning greetings. “I reorganised your desk,” she adds as Mackenzie reaches it and sees four neat stacks of folders, sticky notes present. Millie explains the new order, the small pile, with the bright yellow sticker, is extremely urgent and needs to be done today. The pile in the middle, slightly higher, is less urgent, but probably needs to be dealt with by Wednesday, the next pile, higher again, by the end of the week, and the last, the smallest, can wait for another week or so.

“You’re a life saver,” Mackenzie tells her with a smile, even though she’s going to still have a busy week, by the look of it, and knowing that more will probably pile on each day.

Millie looks pleased.

“And, just, thank you,” Mackenzie adds. “If I didn’t say it before, you’ve been a really big – amazing, last week and,” she gestures to her desk.

“It’s my pleasure. And, to be honest,” the other woman leans in a little conspiratorially. “It’s great to see another woman up here in this boy’s club.”

Mackenzie gives a tight lipped smile but when she takes a quick mental inventory, she realises that now that Leona’s gone, there are no other women up here, who aren’t in assistant roles. That’s not Pruit’s doing though, and she’s not sure if that was Leona’s doing either, or just some odd karmic coincidence. Maybe Reece did it?

Millie leaves her to it so Mackenzie sits at her desk and nudges her computer back to life. She starts with emails, while also flicking through the urgent files on her desk. There’s Maggie’s transfer and a few other things she had been putting off. She works and reads the news alerts at the same time and some time in the midmorning she realises that she doesn’t feel so ill. She grabs her phone and texts Will to tell him, wondering if he’s downstairs yet. He answers her almost immediately.

 

**Great! Lunch?**

**Yes. I’ll try not to get dragged away.**

**Busy day?**

**Yes. Go do the news.**

 

**********

 

When Will goes upstairs at 1pm with lunch, Mackenzie is out. He leaves her roast beef sub on her desk, which is messy, but noticeably tidier compared to last week. He heads downstairs again and is just about to take a seat at his own desk when he sees Mackenzie walk into her old office. He ends up doing a squat, straightening up again and heading in there himself.

“Ok good, you can hear this too,” Mackenzie says to him as he pushes Jim’s office door open. She’s holding her sandwich and the bottle of apple juice. “The Zimmerman trial. How are you going to handle it?” She asks Jim.

“C block. Thirty seconds. The trial’s starting this week and how long it’s expected to continue,” Jim gives a shrug, nothing much more to add to that.

Mackenzie nods, “Good. I don’t have to say we need to be careful with it?” She says with a slight wince.

“Nope,” Jim says, shaking his head. “I’ve got Kendra putting together the packet –”

“She’s careful.”

“She is.”

“What are we talking about here?” Will interrupts, standing with his hands on his hips.

Mackenzie looks over at him. “The Zimmerman trial begins on Wednesday.”

“I know that. Why are we being careful?”

“We should always be careful,” Mackenzie says lightly.

Will gives her an unimpressed expression for the facetiousness. “And why are we being particularly careful in this particular case?”

She studies him a moment and he feels like he’s being measured. “The Zimmerman tape?” She prompts.

“The nine-one-one call?” Will clarifies.

“Yes,” Mackenzie says.

“We aired that didn’t we?” Will asks like it’s obvious.

“We did,” Mackenzie says carefully.

Will looks to Jim, who’s looking at him, then back to Mackenzie. “What am I missing?” He repeats, gesturing with his right hand that she should expand.

“The tape was… edited,” Jim starts.

“To sound as though Zimmerman volunteered information about Martin’s race,” Mackenzie adds.

“When he was actually responding to a question asked by the operator,” Jim finishes.

“We edited it?” Will queries warily.

“Yes,” Jim says, hesitating. He glances at Mackenzie and she looks to Will again.

“We retracted?”

“We aired the full version later in the D block,” Mackenzie supplies.

Will still feels confused. “Was I there?”

“Yes you were there –”

“Why can’t I remember this?”

Jim looks down at his desk and Will starts to feel paranoid. He steps towards Mackenzie, lowers his voice with his mouth closer to her ear. “I wasn’t hi –”

“No,” she says almost as softly. “That was the night –” She stops abruptly and when Will lifts his eyes to meet hers she looks sad. “Your father died,” she adds even quieter.

Will straightens up, steps away – oh, that night. Now he remembers. “Right. Careful. Triple check it,” he says to Jim and leaves the younger man’s office, confronted with a funny feeling in his chest.

Mackenzie looks to Jim. “How’s it going with him? Is he –”

“Fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” he gives a forced smile.

Mackenzie nods. “You know, if he is… being a _giant_ pain in the ass, you can tell me. Just because I _married_ him doesn’t mean –”

“I know,” Jim says lightly. “But it’s fine. He’s –”

“Will?” Mackenzie finishes.

“Yeah,” Jim says with a rush of breath and a more genuine smile this time.

Mackenzie smiles back, knowing. “You’ll be fine,” she says. “But I need to know who your senior producer is going to be.”

“Yeah, I –”

“By the end of _this_ week, Jim,” she adds and goes to find her husband. He’s at his desk, tapping a lighter against the blotter, letting it slide through his fingers over and over. He’s staring at his computer screen, but Mackenzie’s pretty sure he’s not reading anything. She pushes into his office and he looks up at her, then gets to his feet. “Are you giving Jim a hard time?”

Will gives his ‘I don’t care’ shrug.

Mackenzie sits opposite his desk and puts her apple juice and sandwich down. “Are you busy?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have lunch with you.”

“You don’t spend a lot of time in your office,” Will notes, taking a seat.

“I – actually, I spent all morning at my desk, thank you very much,” she replies lightly. “Why would you say that?”

“Whenever I go up there you’re not there,” Will presses.

Mackenzie squints at him as she starts unwrapping her sandwich. “It’s weird, but I’m pretty sure I don’t answer to you. It’s actually the other way around.”

“I’m breaking him in.”

“I hope you’re talking about Jim,” she says dryly.

“Yes Jim. I have to break in a new EP,” Will gives that pout of his mouth again.

Mackenzie takes a bite of her sandwich. “Are you eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

She reaches for the apple juice and up ends the bottle, gives it a shake and watches him, saying nothing.

“Who edited the tape?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

Will sighs. “That night.” He looks up at her. “When my father died.” He watches Mackenzie’s body language subtly change to become focused and serious. “I’m not sure if I ever said thank you.”

“You did.”                                                                                                     

“Well. Good. I meant it. And –”

“I know,” Mackenzie says when he can’t find the right words.

Will nods.

“This is a great sandwich.”

“Yeah you said you liked it the other day so I got another one.”

Mackenzie smiles at him. “Thank you Billy.”

He gives her a shrug, but he’s not unhappy.

“By the way, I cleared my desk of the impending doom. Now I just have to deal with the lesser issues,” Mackenzie adds.

“I’m sure they’re compounding even as you sit here,” Will says drolly.

Mackenzie looks over at him. “Thanks for that.”

 

They’re talking about the governor of Texas (or former governor now) when Will’s phone rings. Mackenzie raises an eyebrow at him, a silent question to ask if she should leave and he says he has to take it, so she gets up, thanks him for lunch again and goes. He watches her walk away (those calves!) and when she’s a good distance gone, takes the call from his doctor’s office. The results are in from the tests he had done last week and can he make a time to come in and see Dr Graves? He says he’ll take the next available appointment. Which is tomorrow at two. He’ll have to blow off the rundown but…

He asks if there’s anything wrong but the woman on the phone isn’t able to discuss his results with him.

Frustrating.

He takes it out on Jim.


	18. Chapter 18

“You wanted to see me?” A nervous British accent asks from her doorway. Mackenzie smiles over at Neal and waves him in. “I feel like I’ve been sent to the principal’s office,” he adds, standing in front of her desk.

“Take a seat Neal, you’re not in trouble,” she tells him, tugging her reading glasses off. “I have a question or a – can you do me a favour?”

“Depends on the favour,” he says eagerly, leaning forward, dark brown eyes wide with enthusiasm. He reminds her of Jim, a bit, how he was in the early days, when everything she said sounded amazing and he wanted to follow her to hell and back.

“I want you to put together a pack for me. A kind of, side by side comparison of how _not_ to do the news, and how to do the news in a serious way.”

Neal still looks keen, but now he looks a little unsure. “Why me?”

“Because I trust you Neal, and you know the kind of thing I’m looking for, and I’m not sure whose side _promotions_ is on. I’ll talk to Jim about seconda-ing you,” she frowns at her own poor choice in word. “About temporarily stealing you away from his newsroom to do this for me. And you can bring into this whoever you need.”

Neal nods, back to being a happy puppy.

“But I don’t want this to get around a lot of people. I don’t want it to seem like we’re – Just try to keep it quiet ok?”

“Ok,” Neal agrees. “What is this for?”

“Let’s just say I’d like to be able to visually and succinctly demonstrate to someone the difference between info-tainment and proper investigative, _ethical_ journalism, and the importance of a well informed electorate and how it’s the media’s job – basically what News Night stands for.”

Neal nods again, but less enthusiastically this time. “All right. I think I know what you mean.”

“Good,” Mackenzie affirms. She gives a slight wince, “But can you do it by the end of the week?”

Neal looks alarmed. “Uh, ok.”

“Great,” Mackenzie enthuses. “Thanks Neal.” He leaves, his brow furrowed deeply, and she picks up the phone to call Jim immediately. It’s better to get things out of the way when there’s a minute to do it, in case news breaks. Or she forgets.

 

**********

 

Will shakes Dr Graves’ hand and they take their respective seats on either side of the desk in the little cubicle that the doctor is working out of today. He opens up Will’s file and starts sifting through the papers. “Cholesterol, not bad, but not great,” he starts to reel off. “Kidney function fine; liver enzymes all at the higher end of the normal range.” He looks over at Will. “You could cut down on the alcohol.”

Will gives a shrug. Actually, he hasn’t had a drink in months, since before he went to prison. It doesn’t seem right to drink in front of Mackenzie, now that she’s pregnant (not that they’ve really had any opportunities to contemplate having a drink). He doesn’t miss it at all. He misses smoking more than he’s missed drinking.

“Lung capacity is what we would expect for a smoker,” Graves muses. He looks over at Will. “You still quit?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s that going?”

Will gives a pout of his mouth. “Fine.”

“Cravings?”

“Some.”

“I can give you something to help.”

“I’m fine,” Will declines.

“You should exercise.”

Will shrugs at that too.

“Something aerobic, walking, light running, swimming.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“It will help improve your lung capacity.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Graves goes back to the test results. “No signs of tumours.”

Will visibly relaxes; that was what he was worrying about. Cancer in his lungs. But Graves isn’t looking at him to notice. Of course, with the amount of cigarettes he’s smoked, he’s probably at risk for a lot more cancers, throat and gum etc, but his lungs were his biggest and immediate worry. 

“Now, the tests on your heart,” Graves shifts another stack of results to the top. “We found you have an enlarged heart.”

“What?” Will feels the organ palpitate; it knows they’re talking about it.

“It showed up on the chest x-ray.”

“What the fuck does that mean? An enlarged heart?”

Graves gets to his feet, the x-ray in his hand. He takes it to the light-box and hangs it, pops the light on. “You can see here,” he points to the right, where the heart bulges out in white contrast against Will’s left lung.

“Am I going to die?” Will asks, feeling hot.

“Well, an enlarged heart is a sign of another underlying problem. We get to that problem, then we can determine prognosis,” Graves says. He leaves the x-ray up, but comes back to Will. “Remove your shirt. I want to listen to your heart.”

Will unbuttons his collar and cuffs and pulls the shirt off over his head. Graves puts on a stethoscope and presses the cold metal against Will’s back. He asks him to hold his breath, then breathe deeply, moves the stethoscope around and repeats. Will feels like his heart his beating out of his chest. He’s suddenly so aware of it, thundering away. It _does_ feel large.  And he’s worrying.

“Mm,” Graves says and takes his seat again. “You can get dressed. I can hear a murmur so I’m going to want to do more tests.”

“What kind of tests?” Will asks, straightening his shirt out.

“I think an ECG. I’ll book you for as soon as possible?”

Will almost says ‘let’s do it right now’ but he can’t. He has to get back to work. There’s still a show to do tonight; the show must go on. Plus, the machine is obviously going to be booked. “As soon as possible,” Will confirms. He pulls his shirt back on, does up the buttons.

“In the meantime, you haven’t complained about any other symptoms so try not to worry. Carry on with normal activities. Eat healthy, exercise, continue to stay off cigarettes and limit your alcohol content.”

“I’ve given up drinking,” Will announces, rebuttoning his cuffs.

“Ok, well, that’s great. Everything in moderation. Someone will call you with an appointment time,” Graves wraps it up. “You’re otherwise in relatively good health Will.” They stand and shake hands again. Will thanks him. Graves tells him they’ll talk again after the echocardiogram. 

Will heads outside and stands in the parking lot looking across the street at nothing in particular, feeling his heart beating in his chest, counting down; a time bomb. An enlarged heart. Saw it himself on the x-ray; a white mass. An over-extended white mass (not that he knows what a normal heart looks like on an x-ray. Perhaps his heart is only slightly extended?) He pulls his phone from his pocket to look it up and finds three missed calls. Two from the office, one from Jim. He checks the news alerts, but nothing has broken while he was at his internists. He told them he had to step out. He puts his phone back in his pocket, distracted, and heads back to work. 

 

**********

 

Mackenzie pushes her way into Will’s office, finds him at his desk, fidgeting with a lighter, staring at the wall. He doesn’t seem to notice she’s come in, which is odd, and only glances up when she’s standing in front of his desk, putting the plastic take-out bag down. He seems startled and gets to his feet. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mackenzie repeats. He comes around the desk and puts a kiss on her cheek. Her _cheek_. “Everything ok?” She asks him. He guides her to sit and she obliges; can’t be bothered with an argument about how she’s capable of sitting herself.

“Yeah,” he breathes, but then just stands there, looking down at her.

“Dinner?” Mackenzie prompts, gesturing around him to the food she’s brought.

“Oh right,” he snaps to. He turns and grabs the bag, starts unpacking it.

“Will?”

“Yeah? Which one’s for you?”

“The beef.”

He hands it over.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“You seem, distracted, or quiet, which isn’t entirely strange for you in a crowd, but is a bit when it’s just you and me.”

Will sits next to her. “I’m fine.” He pops open his take out container. “What is this?”

“Chicken?”

Will gives a shrug, starts eating.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” he looks over at her. “I’m just… Thinking about the baby,” he reaches over and gives her wrist a squeeze.

Mackenzie quickly flips over her hand, presses her palm against his, links their fingers. “Sometimes it hits me too.”

“Yeah,” Will gives a slight smile.

“I had an interesting conversation with Pruit today,” Mackenzie begins, as Will starts on his dinner.

“Oh yeah?”

“About how to do the news. Sort of. It started out as a stubborn rant about the website –”

“Him,” Mackenzie says indignantly and Will smirks slightly before turning back to his food. “He wanted to know when it was going back up and –”

“The news?”

“The website.”

“It’s down?”

“Neal took it down.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

“Why?”

“Because it was a mess.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

“It was covered in irrelevant – never mind. Neal took it down to rebuild it.”

“That kid Bree.”

“Is thirty-three so not really a kid –”

Will waves his fork in the air to dismiss her comment.

“Anyway, so Pruit was asking why it was taking so long to go back up and I explained how Neal was overhauling the content which lead to –”

“The argument.”

“Yes, well, heated conversation.”

“Kind of like how you and I never argue either?”

“Uh huh. Weird isn’t it?” Mackenzie gives him a crinkly smile and it lifts Will’s heart. His enlarged heart. “Any _way_ ,” Mackenzie goes on. “I think we reached a compromise.”

Will raises his eyebrows at her.

“I know. Did you feel the earth tip slightly on its axis at about two as well?”

 _Yes,_ Will thinks, but not because of that.

“So you’re changing the website?” He prompts.

“We’re _going_ to negotiate. I mean, News Night’s page is a _no brainer_. I trust Neal to get that right. And no one else is going to touch it. But we’re going to put up pages for the other shows with content driven by what’s aired _with_ some social media crap and viewer _whatever_. You are ACN!” She fist pumps.

“Sounds like progress.”

“It is!” Mackenzie enthuses.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you excited about your job before.”

Mackenzie stares at him. “What? Of course, I’m excited about my job.”

“Yeah, but I just mean, before, you were…”

“Not excited?” Mackenzie fills in.

“Well, you were tired and stressed.”

“I still am,” she says lightly, stabbing at her meal.

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Will defends.

“I _am_ glad for this job Will. If not the circumstances in which it happened.”

“Yeah,” he agrees dully.

“And I will change Pruit’s mind about how to do the news. Neal’s going to build me a presentation and I’m going to show it to Pruit and he’s going to fall in love with the news like you and I have.”

Will looks over at her. “I love that you think that could happen.”

“It could happen,” Mackenzie says airily.

“Can I see this presentation before you give it?”

“You can watch the tape. I don’t know what I’m going to say yet.”

Will puts his fork down. “If you want me in on this – d”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Ok, but if you want me to.”

“I know where you are.”

“All right,” Will says, focusing back on his dinner.

“That wasn’t a dismissal,” Mackenzie tries again. “I’m just really not sure at this point if it would be a good idea for us to look like we’re ganging up on him.”

Will looks over at her. “Would it look like that?”

“Maybe not as the head of the news division and the flagship show’s star anchor, but as husband and wife? Maybe?”

Will nods. “I just don’t like the idea of you going up against it on your own.”

“That’s sweet,” Mackenzie melts a little. “But also, that’s my job now.”

“You don’t have to bail the boat on your own.”

“I have to bail _this_ boat on my own. It’s the ‘you and me’ boat I don’t have to bail on my own.”

“Ships are usually sailed by a crew,” Will points out.

“But only the captain answers to the admiral.”

“And in the heat of fire everyone comes under attack.”

“So far, no one’s firing any canons, so, let’s just…”

“I’m just saying there’s a whole crew –”

“I get it.”

Will nods and goes back to his food again.

“I’m not trying to be stubborn –”

“You? Stubborn?”

“I just need to do this I think –”

“To prove you can do this?”

“Yes.”


	19. Chapter 19

It’s hot in the hospital. Which is great, because Will’s shirtless as he lays on the narrow and hard hospital bed and waits for the sonographer to come in and do his echocardiogram. He feels nervous, hoping they don’t find anything at all, but also hoping they do. If they find nothing, there’s a chance the chest x-ray is wrong, and his heart isn’t enlarged. But if they find something, then at least he’ll know whether he’s about to die or not. An enlarged heart increases the risk of a heart attack, or it could be a sign of some other serious underlying problem. If they find nothing, the ticking time bomb merely gets louder; finding nothing doesn’t explain why his heart is enlarged.

The ECG takes an hour. Electrodes are placed on key points on Will’s chest and a Doppler device used to emit the sound waves against his heart. It reminds him of Mackenzie, the wand digging into her pelvis, looking for a baby, while for him, it digs into his chest, looking for an anomaly. He’s asked to lay on his left side and sometimes to hold his breath and afterwards, he merely puts his shirt on and goes back to work. At least Mackenzie’s ultrasound was entirely good news.

When he gets into his office he tries to make sense of the messages on his desk, cryptic notes scrawled on post-its in Jenna’s handwriting; half of them don’t make sense. Kids these days. Too much time texting. Hand writing no longer an art. He doesn’t know why she insists on leaving them when she can just verbally report and save him the – “Jenna!” He yells and absently searches for his cigarettes. He sits, remembers he doesn’t smoke anymore and finds himself fidgeting with the lighter instead, for want of something to do.

“Yeah?” The intern comes into his office.

“I can’t read any of these,” he slaps the little cut outs of paper to his desk top.

Jenna grabs them, and starts reading them out, while Will wonders if he can still smell the sonogram gel on his sternum, and if he remembered to turn his phone back on (he checks. He has).

“And Mackenzie wants to see you.”

“Huh?” Will looks up at the young woman.

“Mackenzie,” Jenna repeats, looking unsure. “Wants to see you when you come in.”

Will gets to his feet again, tosses down the lighter. “Thanks.” He leaves before she does, and heads up to the twenty-first floor. Mackenzie is at her desk and Millie waves him on through. He taps before going in and Mackenzie looks up from her desk, glasses perched on the end of her nose, and gives him a smile. A slight smile, a little cautious, and Will is suddenly wary. “Hi,” he greets his wife and takes a seat opposite her desk.

“Hi,” she echoes.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I did,” Mackenzie confirms, she shuffles papers on her desk and settles a folder on top. Will gets the distinct impression he’s in trouble about something. But he can’t think what. He’s pretty sure he’s been low key in the last few weeks, since being released from prison. And sure, he gives Jim a bit of a hard time, but that’s just a kind of ‘giving the newbie a hard time’ kind of thing. “You went to see your internist last week?”

Will’s heart pounds hard.

“Yes,” he answers carefully.

“Did you think to tell me about that?”

Will takes a second to try and interpret her tone.

“I didn’t realise I had to.”

“You mean, you didn’t think I’d find out,” she corrects. Slight accusation.

Will purses his lips at her, because she’s right. But she’s not screaming at him, so he’ll just play it cool. “How did you find out?”

“ACN pays your health insurance. The claim crossed someone’s desk somewhere. They asked me about it. I had no idea what to say, seeing as your annual check-up is scheduled for in two months’ time and you went early. Want to tell me what’s going on? Are you sick?” She asks lightly.

Will stares at her for a second, calculates how much to tell her; how much to satiate her with. “It’s – You know I quit smoking?”

“Yes, I do know that,” she says, amused.

“I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything… lurking –”

“Lurking?”

“With the baby coming,” Will tries a different approach. They both glance to the door. Will lowers his voice and leans forward a little in his chair. “With the baby coming I just want to make sure there aren’t… consequences from smoking.”

Mackenzie narrows her eyes slightly as she considers him; her thinking expression. She takes her glasses off. “Are there?”

“Consequences?”

“Yeah. I’m asking as your wife now, not your boss. Did your internist find anything?” She sounds worried, but she’s also trying to hide it.

Will gives a dismissive shrug and pout of his mouth, more stalling tactics. “Typical stuff, cholesterol could be better, liver could do with a holiday.”

“But you’re not sick?” She asks hopefully.

“No,” Will lies. Mackenzie studies him a moment and then eases back into her chair. Will realises his own shoulders have crept up closer to his ears. He forces himself to relax as well. “Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he offers.

“Will,” Mackenzie says but doesn’t finish the thought. They’re silent for a moment, looking at each other, and then she says casually, “Give me a heads up next time ok?”

“As my boss or my wife?”

“Both. But, wife first. That way I won’t immediately think of the worst.”

And that’s exactly why he didn’t tell her.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Will waits in Habib’s anti-chamber. It’s empty. It always is. Sometimes, that’s good. Will doesn’t want to talk to people. But today, he feels antsy waiting on his own. He can feel his heart beating and he can’t stop thinking about it, how it’s enlarged and how he’s supposed to be trying to stay alive because he’s having a baby, and now this is happening. When Habib welcomes him into his office, he’s too anxious to sit. He paces by the bookcases as the doctor takes his seat.

“So what’s going on?” Habib starts.

“Do you know what aortic stenosis is?”

“It’s uh,” Habib turns towards him. “A failure of the main aortic valve?”

“Yeah,” Will reaches the end of the row and turns to face the other man. He looks worried, but then, so does Will, probably.

“Do you have that?” Habib asks carefully.

“Yeah,” Will confirms. He found out yesterday. He moves to walk along the wall, past the door, to stand against the other wall, pacing like a trapped cat. 

“That’s really serious, Will. Are you ok? What’s the prognosis?”

“I have to have more tests. But my internist doesn’t seem to think it requires immediate attention. I have an enlarged heart, but no other symptoms.”

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Habib points out.

Will goes to reach for an ornament, but just rests the tips of his fingers on the edge of it. Aside from the encyclopaedias on the other wall, he’s never really paid much attention to all the details of this room.

“Don’t you think?” Habib pushes, when Will doesn’t answer.

“My heart is enlarged,” Will repeats.

“But you’re not experiencing any other worrying symptoms.”

Will blinks at the younger man. Well, that is true.

“Which is a good prognosis.”

Even truer.

“Come and take a seat?” Habib suggests. Will complies. “How is Mackenzie feeling about the situation?”

“You ask a lot of questions about her.”

“She’s your wife. That makes her significant in your life. So yeah, I’m going to ask questions about her. Especially ones that involve her and you and significant life events. What did Mackenzie say?”

Will thinks about a plausible answer, but it doesn’t matter. Habib goes on, “You haven’t told her.”

“She’s busy with work and the baby.”

“Will, this is a significant life event. It’s something you should share with her. Kind of as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“When will that be?”

“I won’t know until I find it.”

Habib looks at him.

“I’ll tell her after I have the cathetisation test.”

“Why is it you resist talking to Mackenzie about things like this?” Habib asks neutrally.

Will gives a frown of his mouth while he gestures with a hand. “She’s busy with work and the baby.”

“So you’re saying you’re deciding what she can and cannot handle?” Habib challenges.

Will recognises the barb immediately. “No, I’m just trying not to add to her load.”

“You don’t want to burden her?” Habib asks again.

“Yes.”

“Do you think she thinks you’re a burden?”

Will hesitates. “No, not me as a burden. This thing is adding – she’s under a lot of pressure right now and extra stress – she’s tired because she’s pregnant and she doesn’t need to worry about me.”

“Because you don’t know how serious it is yet?”

“Yes.”

“And when you do know?”

“Well, then, I’ll think about telling her.”

“Because it could be nothing?”

“Exactly!”

Habib considers that for a moment. Or calculates his next attack. “What about if it _is_ something? Do you think she will be ok with you not telling her about it sooner?”

“Probably not. But there’ll be nothing she can do about it then.”

“That’s… not really a great way to look at that Will. She’s your partner and you made vows to each other, I’m assuming something along the line of in sickness and in health, but more importantly, I figure you promised to be there for each other, and you’re not giving her the chance to do that by keeping this from her.”

Will’s not sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you find Mackenzie a generally supportive person?” Habib changes tact.

“Sure,” Will agrees.

“Before you broke up, when you were together the first time, did you have any major problems you worked through together?”

Will gives a shrug of his mouth as he thinks. “No.” He wonders where the doctor is going with this.

“Nothing that you had to work out together?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“What about an issue either of you had, that didn’t involve each other. Work or family related?” Habib suggests when Will stares at him blankly.

He shrugs gain. “I don’t think so.”

“How long were you together?”

“Before we broke up?”

“Yeah.”

Will thinks for a second. “More than a year.”

“Ok,” Habib makes his first note. Actually, he writes for quite a bit and Will waits on him, mostly because he doesn’t really understand what’s happening right now.

“Are we supposed to have?”

“No,” Habib says warmly, glancing up to smile.

“I feel like you’re suggesting we should have.”

“Nope, just a question.”

“I feel like you’re implying something.”

“I’m not Will,” Habib looks up again. “At some point, most couples go through significant life events together, or work through problems together. You and Mackenzie haven’t done that before now, but, here they are.”

“My enlarged heart?”

“Sure. Health crises. Having a baby. Death. Promotion.”

Will blinks at the therapist. “Shit,” he mutters.

“It doesn’t have to be. But you’re going to have to face them sooner or later.”

“I feel like you’re going to serve me with a consequence.”

“Well,” Habib starts thoughtfully. “It won’t be one of my doing. I’m not here to punish you Will. But, in my experience, most marriages don’t survive more than one of those things, unless they really _try_ at it. Marriage isn’t simply putting a ring on your finger –”

“Yeah, it’s compromise and communication,” Will reels off like it’s something he’s heard a million times before. And in fairness, while he has _heard_ that, he’s not seen it demonstrated. His parent’s marriage was dysfunctional to say the least, and who else was going to model one for him? Mackenzie’s parents seem to have a good relationship, but he really wouldn’t know. Maybe he should ask Mackenzie about it some time.

“You don’t communicate,” Habib states.

Will sighs and has to look away. No, he guesses he doesn’t.

“Sharing information with someone isn’t about burdening them with your problems. It’s about sharing the load, having someone in your corner to help you fight, even if it’s from behind the scenes, it’s about having someone on your side.”

Which is entirely what Will wants to do for Mackenzie.

“Mackenzie might be able to offer you reasonable solutions you haven’t considered before. She might just want to hold you at night so you don’t feel alone, or hold your hand while you’re having a medical procedure. But she can’t do that unless you give her the opportunity to. I can almost guarantee you, she will not look at you as if you are a burden,” Habib says earnestly. “She’s fought hard to show you she cares –”

“Yeah I know,” Will cuts in, his throat feeling tight, because when he thinks about the last few years, he doesn’t feel good about it. Not some of his finer moments. And if he’d just gotten his head out of his ass sooner…

“So let her care.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. He sees it. “A problem shared is a problem halved, right?”

“Yes!” Habib enthuses.

“I’ll think about it.”

Habib gives him a kind of ‘what can you do’ expression. He notes down something else. “How have you been sleeping?”

“All right,” Will’s mouth shrugs in betrayal.

“Eating well? Exercise?”

He shrugs in answer to the first question. “No exercise.”

“Ok. How’s your mood been?”

“Are you checking to see if I’m depressed?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you just ask me?”

“Are you depressed?”

“I don’t know.”

“How’s your mood been?”

Will shrugs and looks to the bookcases. “Not great,” he admits. He definitely felt a lot better before Charlie died.

“Are you still taking the anti-depressants?”

“I think I misplaced the prescription.”

“Would you like me to write you another one?”

“Do you think I need it?”

“I do,” Habib nods. “Right now, I think you have a lot going on, not unlike a few years ago. Except this time, I hope it doesn’t result in another suicide attempt. And seeing as it’s kind of my job to make sure you don’t –”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

“But you weren’t exactly trying to keep yourself alive.”

Will doesn’t have a response to that one. It might be true. “I didn’t think it made much difference then,” he admits.

“You had nothing to live for?”

“Well,” Will tries to dismiss, as if the answer is something obvious, when really, he doesn’t know.

“How about now?”

“Do I have something to live for?”

“Yes Will. This is important,” Habib says firmly.

“I’m not going to kill myself.”

“Promise?”

Will gives a half laugh, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Sure.”

“Will you promise Mackenzie?” Habib asks very seriously.

Will sits very still and stares at the doctor. “Yes.”

“Good. Go home and do that tonight.” He gets up from his desk and grabs another smaller pad. He fills it out on his feet, tears off the top sheet and hands it to Will. It’s a prescription for an anti-depressant. “You don’t have to take it, but I strongly suggest you do.”

“You think I’m depressed?”

“I do. At least at the moment, if not for the past few years. You still haven’t properly dealt with Charlie’s death and your father’s, or any of the other stuff going on before that.”

Will frowns a little as he folds the prescription in half, “Most of that stuff was about Mackenzie, and that’s done now.”

“Granted,” Habib says. “But maybe not all of it. You’ve definitely got some major stuff going on now as well, to add to that.”

Will purses his lips. He didn’t really think so, but if the good doctor says he’s four for four, then he’ll have to take his word for it.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Friday.

The week has raced by.

When Mackenzie wakes in the morning, it’s before her alarm. She needs the bathroom and when she staggers back to bed she sees that she’s only woken half an hour early. So she starts on her morning routine anyway. She has crackers and water in bed, then showers and dresses, moving around in the dim light from the nightlight in the en suite so she doesn’t wake Will. She has a little cereal and does her make up in the bathroom. It’s nice not to rush, and she feels better this morning than she has in the last two weeks. Before she leaves she nudges Will half-awake gently, telling him that she’s leaving. He blinks at her and wishes her a good day. She tells him to find her for lunch and he agrees. Or, he mutters, which she takes as agreement. She knows he didn’t stay in bed last night because she wasn’t quite asleep when he got up. But she doesn’t know what time he came back.

Jim comes in at ten. “You got a minute?” He asks tentatively from the doorway and Mackenzie waves him in with a smile. “Always a minute for you Jim.”

He comes to stand in front of her desk. “I have a candidate to be senior producer for News Night.”

Mackenzie raises her eyebrows, and tugs off her reading glasses.

“Kelli Poul.”

“Do I know Kelli?” Mackenzie asks cautiously.

“She works for CNN. Moved up to Atlanta from the DC bureau before you arrived. But I’m not sure if you met.”

Mackenzie gives a pout of her mouth. “So she has a job?”

Jim nods. “We talked and she’s interested, but she needs some convincing.”

“What does convincing mean?”

“She has a family now. So to uproot them she’s going to need…” Jim makes a gesture with his arm.

“Incentive?” Mackenzie guesses.

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I just said I understood her circumstances and that I would need to talk to my news director before I could come back to her with an offer.”

“And she’s definitely interested?”

“Yes,” Jim nods. “And she’s good, Mac. She’s who I would want.”

“Get me a copy of her resume and I’ll take a look. And see if she’ll come in to interview, before I agree to anything.”

“Ok,” Jim nods again. “I’ll get right on it.”

“And Jenna?”

“I’ve been giving her more responsibility so, we’ll see how she goes.”

“She’ll want to be paid for that extra responsibility,” Mackenzie notes shrewdly.

“Give her a few weeks trial?” Jim suggests.

“Ok,” Mackenzie nods.

Jim half turns to leave, but turns back. “What’s the thing Neal’s working on?”

“Oh, that’s for me.”

Jim gives a slow nod, a pout of his mouth, considering his words. “Any reason we’re not part of it?” He doesn’t push her to explain exactly what the thing is, even though that was his actual question.

Mackenzie considers him a moment. She suspects if she tells him about the project he’ll want to jump in with ideas or just to help and she remembers what Will said to her, about wanting to also be part of it, and realises that maybe this isn’t so much about ganging up on Pruit to brow-beat him into seeing the news how they see the news, but letting the _News Night_ crew express their passion; it affects them too. “I need to get it started and then we can talk about it,” she answers.

“Ok,” Jim accepts and leaves her office. To be immediately replaced by Neal.

“Good morning,” he greets her.

“I was just talking about you,” Mackenzie tells him, which makes him look immediately worried; it’s kind of cute. She smiles. “Nothing bad. What’s up?”

Neal waves a pen-drive. “I’ve put something together for you to look at, but it’s rough, it’s really rough. I need more time.”

“It’s been a busy week,” Mackenzie concedes, even though every week is a freaking busy week at the moment. “What’s happening with the website?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m also working on that, I swear, and it will be done really soon.”

Mackenzie holds out her hand to take the pen drive. “Let’s take a look?”

Neal hands it over, and then wipes his hands down his pants legs while Mackenzie jams the stick into the drive.

 

**********

 

It’s lunchtime. Well, it’s _News Night’s_ lunch time, which is after the rundown meeting, so basically the middle of the afternoon. Will pulls his blackberry from his pocket and thumbs his way through the menu to Mac’s number and hits dial. He brings the device to his ear, listening to it ring, while he fidgets with an old lighter against his desktop, turning it over and letting it slide through his fingers, until it taps against the blotter; repeat.

“Hey honey,” Mackenzie answers, her voice husky, making Will’s stomach tighten for a second.

“Are you coming down?”

“To?”

“The newsroom? Maggie’s leaving… thing.”

“Oh shoot, I forgot. Uh yeah, I’ll…”

Will waits for her to finish the sentence but is left hanging. “Mac?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to finish writing this thought and then I’ll be there.”

“I’m going to call you back if you’re not here in ten minutes.”

She laughs. “Alright, but I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

Will cuts the call and sits at his desk for a moment. He’s half way through writing his copy, and socialising is always something best avoided. He waits five minutes and then stands, looks out to the bullpen to see the staff in the conference room, pizza on the table, standing or sitting around, talking and laughing and whatever. With Mackenzie gone, he feels cut off from the staff again. She was the bridge between them and now that the support has been taken away, it feels tentative and shaky. He’d do anything to help any of them if they needed it, but when it comes down to simple conversation, he feels just slightly out of his comfort zone. Broadcasting live in front of millions of strangers every night: piece of cake. Making small talk: nightmare.

Mackenzie hasn’t come downstairs yet but he goes out anyway. He ate with Mackenzie at her lunch time, so he’s not hungry for pizza. He takes a soda though and stands by the conference room door and listens to Tamara recounting a story of one of Maggie’s first days there, and it almost makes him blush, when he realises it also involves him and his inability to get her name right. “She looks like an Ellen!” He gestures with a teasing tone and Maggie grins at him; he’s long been forgiven.

“What’s going on in here?” Mackenzie asks as she waltzes in, sliding her arm around Will’s waist. “Don’t you lot have the news to do?”

It’s Neal that boos her first but the others join in and she’s laughing with it, jostling against Will so that he has to widen his stance to keep his balance. She takes his soda and has a sip while Don loudly starts in on one of his ‘clumsy Maggie’ stories, which she starts to beg him to cease; she’s horrified. Mackenzie gives Will his soda back and turns her head to him, listening even as she murmurs “told you, ten minutes.”

He looks down at her for a moment and smiles but leaves it at that. When the story-telling runs past five minutes Will moves and pulls Mackenzie with him, making her sit at the head of the table, in his usual spot; he sits next to her. She tells the story of when she first met Maggie, almost spot promoting her for staying loyal to _News Night_ when _everyone_ else (Neal objects to that) had left, and the team boos Don who protests loudly that he still did the right thing in bailing out on a sinking ship. He’s shouted down; Mackenzie the loudest.

The room lulls in conversation for a moment. “I have to get back upstairs,” Mackenzie announces.

“Yeah we should get back to doing the show,” Jim pipes up. There’s a collective groan.

“Wait,” Will gets to his feet and raises his soda in salute. “To Ellen.” Everyone laughs. “I’m sorry it took me so long to learn your name, when your name is one worth knowing. Take DC by storm.”

Everyone echoes ‘cheers’ or ‘go Maggie’ and raises their drinks to her. She gets red in the face but thanks them and promises she’ll keep in touch and share her sources; she’s still loyal to News Night.

“Helps that Jane Barrow is such a bitch,” Kendra mutters under her breath. It draws a shocked silence for a moment, and then everyone laughs and agrees. 

“Maggie?” Mackenzie gets her attention. “Quick word?” She indicates with her head that they should go somewhere else. Will finishes his soda, and because no one’s paying attention to him, slips back to his office. He hopes Mackenzie comes to find him before she goes back upstairs.

Mackenzie stands just outside of the conference room and waits for Maggie. She sees Will sneak out behind them, but most of the rest of the staff stay in the conference room, pour more soda and finish off the pizza. Sloan saunters towards them from across the bullpen. “Hey Kenzie,” she greets casually.

“Sloan!”

“What happened to going for that drink, girlfriend?”

“I know, I’ve been so _busy_ ,” Mackenzie gushes an apology. Sloan comes to stand in front of the other two women. “Let’s do it Monday,” Mackenzie places a hand on Sloan’s arm. “No, Monday’s terrible for me. Tuesday. We’ll do it Tuesday.”

“Ok,” Sloan says sceptically.

“No for real, Tuesday,” Mackenzie insists.

“What time?” Sloan challenges.

“Te – Twelve,” Mackenzie changes her mind.

“All right,” Sloan agrees. She turns to Maggie. “Congratulations!”

Maggie gushes a thank you and the two hug briefly. Maggie invites Sloan to grab some pizza before it’s gone, and then invites her to drinks at Hang Chew’s later tonight. Sloan says she’ll be there. Maggie turns to Mackenzie. “Sorry, I was totally going to invite you too, I just didn’t know if you were drinking at the moment, I mean, I assume you’re not drinking at the moment, because you’re –” She stops abruptly; deer in the headlights.

“Pregnant,” Mackenzie finishes. “Yeah. And I’m bed before ten these days.” And they probably don’t want their bosses hanging around during their down time either. “It’s fine,” Mackenzie insists. “Listen, I just wanted to say, good luck in DC. Not that you’ll need luck, Maggie, you’re going to be fine. Great. You’re a really good producer and the last year, you’ve produced some really great work.”

“Thank you,” Maggie smiles proudly, her cheeks going slightly red again.

“When are you leaving?”

“Sunday, the last flight I could get.” Her expression goes sheepish, “So I can spend time with Jim before I go.”

Mackenzie smiles. “Well, don’t be a stranger up these ways either.”

“I won’t,” Maggie says seriously.

“And if you need anything, call,” Mackenzie adds.

“Thank you,” Maggie says tightly. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

Mackenzie smiles back, but can’t think of anything poignant to add. “You’re welcome. You’ve earned it.” Her mind flickers to Africa.

They stand for a moment together.

“I guess I should get back to work,” Maggie says.

“Don’t work too hard on your last day,” Mackenzie suggests.

Maggie laughs, “I won’t.” She goes back to the conference room and Mackenzie checks her phone to see if she missed any notifications. She hasn’t. She looks over the bull pen to Will’s office. She can see the top of his blond hair, facing the computer, she figures. He’s probably working on his copy, so she goes back upstairs to her office.

 

**********

 

Will takes out his phone and dials Mackenzie’s number from his recently called contact list (she’s practically the _only_ person he calls now). She answers it almost immediately. “Hey?”

“Uh, you coming downstairs?”

He did wait ten minutes before calling to check up on/remind her.

“We’ve already _done_ this bit.”

“Dinner.”

“Oh, is that the time?” Her voice goes up in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, give me a minute,” she hangs up on him.

Will sits at the table opposite his desk and spreads out the food he’s bought. He’s gone for Iskandar. Beef for Mackenzie, chicken for him. No hummus. Apple juice, and Baklava for dessert. It’s after six o’clock and the bullpen is noisy as the staff enter the final run before broadcast. Will can hear Jim calling out to someone across the room and a phone rings incessantly. But in here the noise is muted with the door closed and he’s already finished writing his copy, so he can take half an hour to eat with his wife, before getting ready for broadcast himself.

Mackenzie pulls his office door open a minute later. “Hey,” she greets. He gets to his feet and she steps in to let him kiss her. But she tucks a finger into a belt loop on his jeans so when he tries to step away she tugs him back, and kisses him again. Just a quick kiss. But still. “Hey,” she repeats with a smile and Will beams back at her.

“Sit,” he pulls a chair for her and waits until she’s seated before sitting himself. “How was your day?” He asks as she pops open the top of her take out container.

“Yum,” she says first, inspecting her meal, then she looks up at him. “Busy, but good. How’s the news?”

Will gives a shrug. “No new news.”

“I hope you’re not opening with that.”

Will ignores that statement. “Did you notice I didn’t text to ask how you were feeling every hour this week?”

“I _did_ notice. And you weren’t that bad.” She reaches out with her hand and squeezes his arm. But she smiles in an amused way that makes Will feel light in his chest; not everything is broken. Habib might be wrong.

“I’m trying,” he says, because he wants her to stop and notice that he is. Yeah, he wants the recognition. He _really_ needs to know he’s getting something right.

“And I’m happy to report that I felt ok today.”

“Just ok?” He asks neutrally, looking over at his wife.

She gives him a slight smile as she studies him and he feels like she’s looking deep into his mind and finding something interesting there. She shakes her bangs from her eyes and leans forward a little. “I’m tired,” she starts slowly. “And a little stressed, but I didn’t feel like throwing up most of the day, so that was nice.”

Will nods along, like it’s a conversation about the weather, but he wants is to make her a world where she doesn’t say ‘I’m a little stressed’ and ‘I’m tired’. Never mind. Instead he asks her how Pruit was today and she shifts to her airy tone, the one that tries to be dismissive but fails as she says he wasn’t so bad and she can handle him. It’s not that she’s lying so much as she’s obviously playing it down and Will wants that stress-free world to also include the ability to be a fly on the wall in her daily activities so he can actually gauge for himself how stressed out she is (and whether or not he should intervene). At least she’s not ranting and lamenting. She’s actually, well, not blasé, but definitely more Zen than she was a week ago. Progress. She doesn’t elaborate on her dealings with Pruit, and he gets the impression he should let it go. He doesn’t want to, but he’ll figure out how to push for these things later. They move on to talk about Maggie and DC while they eat.

“Are you going for drinks later?” Mackenzie asks, reaching for her apple juice.

“I was going to go home,” Will ducks his head to catch her eye, checking her expression before she answers his next question: “Are you?”

Mackenzie takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head. “No,” she almost gushes. “Bars are no fun if you’re not drinking. Besides that, I just don’t think I could stay awake long enough to hold a conversation.”

“So you’re going to go home… now? After this?” He gestures to their meals.

“No, I think I’ll try to get some more work done. Maybe wait for you,” she says it almost sweetly, a little cautiously.

Will nods. He likes it when she waits. Even though he feels bad that she stays up for him, when she should probably be going to sleep. He scoops up the last of his rice and yoghurt with his plastic fork.

“Thanks for dinner,” Mackenzie says.

Will looks over at her. “You’re welcome.”

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Like old times,” he answers softly.

Mackenzie smiles at him. “Yeah. Sort of.”

Will reaches for her apple juice to take a mouthful to wash down the last of his dinner.

“Except everything is different,” Mackenzie adds.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Mackenzie wakes before Will. She’s slept through the night, but she does get up now to go to the bathroom. She slides back into bed carefully and Will doesn’t stir. She’s gotten good at creeping in and out of bed without waking him. And now that she’s used to rousing so early in the mornings, she manages to get to her alarm before it goes off and disturbs him; she hasn’t woken him once this week, unless she was doing it on purpose. She lays back against her pillow and reaches for her blackberry. She checks the news alerts, flicks through what’s happened in the world and in America overnight, waits for her husband to wake when he’s ready. It’s Saturday. There are clean sheets on the bed, just like he promised, and they’re scheduled for cuddles in bed and a day of doing whatever together. 

“What’s new?” A sleepy voice mutters from next to her. He shifts closer and presses his mouth against her shoulder, then shifts his head so his cheek rests against the same place.

“Hmm, nothing there.” Mackenzie puts her phone back on the nightstand. She reaches under the cover, searching for his hand.

“What are you doing?” Will blinks at her, half rolling away. 

“Give me your hand,” Mackenzie reaches.

“Why?”

“Give it to me,” she finds his forearm and trails her fingers rapidly down to his wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to show you something,” she grabs his fingers and pulls his hand towards her. He doesn’t resist too hard (but she can feel him resisting, and chooses to ignore it). She flattens his fingers and puts his palm against her abdomen. And then she looks over at his face. His blue eyes are sleepy and he stares back at her a moment, but then he clicks.

“Wait,” he murmurs. He adjusts his hand against her pelvis. “Is that?”

“Yep.”

“You’re showing?”

“Yep,” she repeats with a smile. “A tiny little bit.”

Will pulls back the blanket and she lifts her tee so he can see when he sits. She’s barely rounded out, but it _is_ noticeable now. “When?”

“I guess this week. I didn’t notice particularly.”

Will gives a slight smile and places his hand over her pelvis again. Then he moves up her body to place a kiss on her lips. “Can you feel it?”

Mackenzie shakes her head, but smiles. She brings her hands up to frame his face, her palms on his cheeks. She gives him another quick kiss. “But the great news is I’m not going to have to pee every hour now, hopefully.”

“You didn’t get up in the night?”

Mackenzie shakes her head.

“That’s great.”

“It _is_ great,” Mackenzie agrees. “And I won’t have to leave my office every half hour either. I swear Millie probably thinks I have a UTI.”

Will gives her a cross between a frown and an eye roll, and swiftly changes the subject, “Want something for breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“Food.”

“What food – I mean, what would you like for breakfast?”

“Waffles.”

“Waffles?” Will raises his eyebrows. “Do we even have waffles?”

“You do the food shopping, I’d have no idea.”

“Hm,” Will muses. “Then I shall go and see.” He moves away from her (carefully, doesn’t climb all over her), and goes to the door.

“Breakfast in bed?” Mackenzie asks.

“Whatever you wish,” Will says from the doorway.

Mackenzie squirms down so the blanket is up to her nose. Her t-shirt rides up to her ribs and she places both hands over the slight swell of her belly. Yeah, it’s starting to feel real. And she’s starting to feel good too. The last week has been almost great. She’s totally got her job handled, she feels way less nauseated (to the point where she doesn’t quite notice that she is), her boobs hurt less, and she can sleep through the night.

Will comes back into the bedroom and Mackenzie watches him go to the walk-in wardrobe. He comes back out with a pair of jeans and a clean tee. “What are you doing?” She asks him as he tosses the clothes to the end of the bed.

“We don’t have waffles,” he announces, and tugs the shirt he slept in off over his head. “So I’ll go out to get you some.” He tosses his shirt at her and it lands square in her face. She reaches up to tug it away.

“Don’t go out, Billy. Come back to bed.”

“You wanted waffles,” Will points out, unfolding the clean shirt, preparing to put it on.

“No, babe, let’s go out later to get waffles. Come and lay in bed with me first.”

Will stops dressing and watches her. She pouts at him, then flicks back the cover to invite and he gives in, throwing his t-shirt on top of his jeans and crawling over the mattress to her. Mackenzie grins and throws her arms up and Will takes the hint and comes closer to her. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

“I need my shirt back,” Will murmurs against her mouth. “If I’m going to laze in bed.”

“Uh uh, leave it off,” she whispers back, crinkling her eyes at him.

“What if I get cold?” He hums.

“I’ll keep you warm,” she pulls him down for another kiss, then smooths her hand over his shoulder and down his side. He moves away from her, dropping to lie next to her on the bed and she pouts again. She turns with him, scoots closer, tries to kiss him again.

“Mackenzie,” he utters softly, a warning in his tone. He shifts his hips away from her, turns onto his back.

“Will,” Mackenzie answers, pushing herself up to lean on an elbow. She puts her hand on his abdomen, to stop him from moving away again. “What’s going on? You don’t want to have sex with me?”

“It’s not you.”

“You’ve already said that, but there are only two of us here, and it kind of leads me to believe that it’s me.”

“It’s not –”

“If it’s not because I’m pregnant, am I suddenly unattractive?”

“Jesus! No!”

“Because we’ve been married all of two minutes, I don’t think I’ve let myself go just yet –”

“Mackenzie –”

“Things are going to be different once the baby’s here.”

“Yeah –”

“My vagina’s going to be _wrecked.”_

“That’s not – It’s not you!”

“Then I don’t get it Will,” Mackenzie says gently and that gets his attention; he’s not going to get away with brushing the conversation off again. “We’ve had sex _once_ in the last two months. Not even _once_ since we’ve been married. I don’t understand what’s changed, aside from you not wanting me anymore. We’re two months into our marriage. Aren’t we supposed to still be in the honeymoon phase?”

Will’s eyes flicker away from her.

“Do you remember when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other?” Mackenzie adds softly.

His eyes flicker back to her. “Yes. Of course I remember.” They stare at each other for a moment. “Jesus, Mac,” Will says again, but it’s soft, defeated; he didn’t realise it had been that long. Maybe Habib’s right: things are bad. He looks over at his wife and she’s staring back at him and he wants to look away, but can’t. He hears Habib encouraging him again to talk to her, and thinks ‘seize the moment’. “It’s not you. Ok? I’m – It’s – I just – Habib thinks I’m depressed.”

Mackenzie blinks slowly and her face changes so subtly into her thinking expression. She considers what he’s said and then she carefully says: “What do you mean depressed?”

Will balks at that. “Depressed, depressed.”

“Like, ‘I’m grieving for Charlie’ depressed or –”

“Depressed, depressed,” Will repeats flatly.

Mackenzie gives a slight nod. “Right.” She pauses. “What do _you_ think?”

“I don’t know,” Will immediately dismisses and looks over at the opposite wall (which is bare. There are no decorations in the room. The walls are painted, and the furniture is moved in, but their home still isn’t quite lived in). He looks back at his wife. “I think he could be – yeah, Charlie died and I feel tired all the time.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Mackenzie points out matter-of-factly but she falls silent again and Will looks over at her. She’s just watching him. He’s not sure if this would be easier if she lead the conversation. “You’ve been depressed before,” she says gently.

Will wonders if she’s trying to convince him.

“Several years ago,” she goes on because he hasn’t acknowledged what she said. “You were taking anti-depressants? While you were also self-medicating with –”

“Ok, I get it.”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to –”

“I know,” Will interrupts. “I know! I don’t mean to be so…”

“Sad?”

“Irritated.”

“I _irritate_ you?” Mackenzie asks surprised.

“No!” Will says forcefully. He pushes himself up on an elbow and leans on it so he’s looking down at her. “I’m frustrated.”

“With me?”

“Not with you. With,” he gestures to the room. “Everything.”

Mackenzie squints at him, another of her thinking faces. “I don’t understand, Will. It sounds like you’re saying you’re unhappy with me.”

“I’m not,” Will grumps. “Look, everything’s different and –”

“You don’t like change.”

“No,” he says bluntly.

“Want me to quit my job and be your EP again?”

“I would love that, but I would also _never_ let you do that.”

“Let me?” Mackenzie challenges lightly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Let me?” Mackenzie repeats, her tone light and something dangerous in her eye.

“Mac –”

“ _Let me?!”_ She moves, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, but he turns in anticipation of her move and ends up on his back on the mattress, his wife sliding over his hips to sit on his pelvis, her body pressed against his, laughing lightly against his ear. He slides his hands around her hips, holding her against him. She sits back and looks down at him. “Will. I don’t know what to say. I thought things were getting better this week? More settled?” She gives a slight shake of her head, eyebrows furrowed.

“They are.”

“But you’re laying here telling me you’re depressed. That’s not better.”

Will would shrug if his shoulders if they weren’t pressed against the bed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Honey,” Mackenzie says gently and she looks at him tenderly. Not pity. Thank god it’s not pity. “What can I do to help you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you taking anti-depressants again?”

“I – Habib gave me a prescription.”

“But are you taking them?” She pushes. He’s too good at not answering questions directly and she knows that about him.

“No.”

“Did you plan on it?”

Will gives a pout with his mouth.

“Will,” Mackenzie says, her tone edging into a warning.

“Last time didn’t work out so well.”

“You were also drinking when you shouldn’t have been and taking too much pain medication,” she points out. Will concedes that with another pout, and even though she doesn’t say it, they both think of The Damn Article. “Fuck,” Mackenzie mutters. “Will.” She hesitates and meets his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve been –”

“It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Of course it’s to do with me,” she says haughtily; offended. “You just said everything’s changed. What’s changed is that I’m not around much anymore. We’ve already talked about this!”

“But that’s not your problem.”

“Silly man,” she swats at his shoulder. “Your problems _are_ my problems. We’re married now, or are you also in _denial_ about that?”

“I’m not –”

“We’ve got to work things out _together_. If you need me to do something for you, or you need me to _not_ do something for you – I don’t _know_ Will.”

“I don’t know either,” he reaches for her hands and squeezes her fingers. He watches her intently as tears well up in her eyes. “Jeeze Mac, don’t cry, I –”

“Only you make me cry,” she half laughs and tugs a hand loose to wipe a dot of wetness from beneath her eye. Then she drops against him, mashing her breasts against his bare chest, her chin digging into the edge of his shoulder, and he can feel the firmer swell of the baby against his belly (or at least he thinks he can). He feels bad. He feels bad for Charlie dying and for not being happy his wife has been promoted to an amazing position, and he feels bad because it sounds like he’s blaming her, when he’s not, and he can’t explain, and she’s having his baby. He wishes he could tell her that. But apparently, he doesn’t always have the right words in every situation.

He wraps his arms tightly around her back, pressing her down against him, feeling grounded with the weight of her bearing down on his lungs, but not too hard, because she’s pregnant. And he still needs to breathe.

Mackenzie is the one who ends the embrace. She pushes against him to sit up, and then slides her leg back over him and rolls off the mattress. “I need the loo,” she says sheepishly and goes to the bathroom. Will gets out of bed himself, picking up the cover and shaking it out, smoothing the edges so it sits on top of the mattress perfectly. Then he goes to pick his clothes up off the floor. He’s zipping up his jeans when Mackenzie comes back into the room.   
“Let’s go and get waffles,” he tells her.

 


	23. Chapter 23

They walk. Because Mackenzie wants to. It’s only a few blocks and Will shuts down the niggle in the back of his mind that thinks putting her in a cab is a better idea because she’s pregnant and tired. He does have to admit it’s nice to stroll with her, hand in hand, in the sun on a Saturday in the city. He loves the city. Loves the anonymity, but also the intimacy. It’s a big island, but it doesn’t take much to have a favourite diner, the local store, a neighbourhood, sense of community, a place to belong. It feels more like home here in Manhattan than it does going back to a tiny blip on the map outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. He doesn’t know why. Perhaps it’s just because it’s not where he grew up.  

Mackenzie orders a decaf coffee with her blueberry waffles, which makes Will raise an eyebrow, and then they go to sit in a booth along the wall. Mackenzie pushes a knee between his and then lays a hand on the table top, and invitation for him to hold her hand again. He does.

“I thought you,” he starts and she looks over at him and he stutters into a stop.

“What?” She prompts.

“Coffee,” he tries again, and when she doesn’t frown at him or glower, he feels like it’s ok to ask. “You’re not drinking coffee?”

“Ugh, no. To be honest, it’s made me feel ill, so I just gave it up.”

Will let’s his eyebrows go high. “You gave it up?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “But seeing as I’m no longer throwing up, touch wood,” she taps the table with her free hand, “I thought I might try again.”

“Decaf?”  
“ _Yes,_ decaf.” She slides her fingers down between his. It makes him feel hot. And he wonders why it is that he doesn’t want to have sex with her. It’s not that he doesn’t think she’s beautiful. Or that he doesn’t miss the feel of her body against his. It feels like so much effort, and that is what feels exhausting.

“It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you,” he says. This time Mackenzie’s eyebrows go high and her eyes go wide. He lowers his voice and leans forward. “I don’t know how to explain how I feel.”

“You said you were _tired_ ,” Mackenzie tries, her left shoulder rising in a slight shrug.

“Yeah,” he agrees. But that’s not all of it. It’s not tired in the same way she’s tired.

“We don’t have to,” she shakes the hair from her eyes as she leans towards him. “I don’t mean to pressure you –”

“You’re not –”

“And we don’t even have to have _sex_ , we can do _other things_. Or not, if you don’t want to –”

“Yeah, I know, I hear what you’re saying.”

“Just, you let me know,” she says. Mackenzie stops playing with his fingers and squeezes them instead. “Can I change the subject?” She asks coyly.

“Sure,” he agrees easily.

“Now that I’m getting close to the end of my first trimester, I was thinking we could start telling people I’m pregnant.”

“Everyone already knows.”

“Not _every_ one,” she answers haughtily. “My parents. Your siblings.”

“Pruit,” they say at the same time. A waitress arrives with their coffees and they both sit back in their respective seats so there’s room.

“Thank you,” Mackenzie gives the waitress a smile.

“Food’ll be out in a minute,” she responds and walks off.

Mackenzie pulls her cup closer.

“What are you going to tell Pruit?” Will asks sipping is espresso.

“Obviously I’m going to have to tell him I’m pregnant,” Mackenzie looks up at him. She gives a smile.

“Do you want me to be there?”

“No I can do it,” she says airily.

“When are you going to stop working?”

“I’m not sure. A couple of weeks before?”

Will feels his chest tighten. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather finish before Christmas sometime so I can wrap you in bubble wrap and wait on you like a slave?”

Mackenzie gives a slight laugh and reaches out to squeeze his hand where it’s curled around the saucer his espresso cup came with. “That’s cute, and I do like the idea of you _waiting_ on me like a slave, but no. So long as I’m feeling _ok_ , I’ll work as long as possible.”

He wants to protest. He wants to demand she finish at Christmas, so she can spend the last month in bed.  But he thinks better of it. He nods. Thinks about protesting again. He can’t. It will cause a massive argument, and they’re out in public. And besides that, he’s not the boss of his wife. He’s protective, sure, but he _is_ ok with her being her own person. He doesn’t need to control her. He’s not his father.

He’s _not_ his father.

And he trusts her to make the right decisions, especially those about her own body. He drains the rest of his espresso and moves the cup and saucer to the side. He reaches out to take Mackenzie’s hand again and she gives him a bright smile as he does. “Whatever you think is best,” he tells her, and he means it, and makes the smile deepen.

A different waitress arrives with plates so they separate again and she plonks them down. “Excuse me.”

Will looks up at her.

“Are you Will McAvoy?”

“Yes,” he says and tries to smile, even though he doesn’t want to.

“Oh, my mom is a big fan of your show,” the young woman gushes.

“Tell her thanks for watching,” Will smiles back. The waitress nods and moves along and Will turns to his breakfast, hungry now that the food is in front of him. He notices Mackenzie is not eating. In fact, she’s frowning at his plate. “What?”

“Did I order blueberries?”

“Yes.”

She looks up at him. Then at his plate. He sighs. “I’m only trading you one,” he shifts his plate closer to hers, takes one of her blueberry waffles and replaces it with one of his chocolate chip. She gives him another cute smile, flirty, and starts eating.

  

**********

 

“I’ll leave you to…” Will gestures to Mackenzie’s laptop, where she’s set up to skype with her parents.

“Wait,” she holds out her hand to him and he steps closer so she can take his fingers. She pulls on his hand so he falls against the couch.

“What are you doing?” He asks as he rights himself, gets a knee under his body to straighten up again.

“Sit with me,” she answers. She looks over at him, still holding his hand as he shifts himself to sit next to her.

“I thought you’d want to tell them on your own?”

“This is something we should tell people together.”

“You’re telling Pruitt –”

“He’s my _boss,_ ” Mackenzie corrects. “That’s not really appropriate.” She hits the video call icon on the open skype page. “But this is family.” She surprises him with a quick kiss on the mouth, but they’re both startled by the sound of her mother’s voice picking up the call. Mackenzie looks slightly sheepish as she turns to the screen, and then she’s smiling and saying hello.

“Am I interrupting?” Ann teases.

“No,” Mackenzie brushes it off easily, but Will feels a little embarrassed. It occurs to him that he has no idea what Mackenzie said to her family about when they broke up. And while he highly doubts that she would paint him as the bad guy, given the guilt she felt about what happened, blood is thicker than water. He’s pretty sure he knows whose side they took. And how do her family feel about their marriage?

“Listen Mum, Will and I have some news,” Mackenzie says, drawing the conversation around. They’d been engaging in general chit-chat, catching up; how are you? But Will wasn’t paying attention to the details. Ann falls silent on her side, gives them an attentive expression and Will feels his heart rate elevate slightly. “I’m pregnant. Will and I are having a baby,” Mackenzie blurts giddily.

“Oh my god!” Ann exclaims and they’re off, talking about the when and how, all the details, and Will zones out. Actually, he half listens, and he’s pleased to find that when Ann asks Mackenzie about how she’s been feeling, it’s not new information to him. She’s kept him up to speed with the tiredness and nausea and he feels grateful that there are no surprises; nothing she’d tell her mother, but wouldn’t tell him. It makes him think again that he should really open up more to her; talk about how _he_ feels. She’s right, they’re married, they’re supposed to share.

Ann starts recounting stories about her own morning sickness and pregnancies and Will zones out even harder. When he feels a little pressure in his bladder he happily uses it to excuse himself to the bathroom. Mackenzie gives his wrist a squeeze as he gets up, but she doesn’t break from the conversation. Will does use the bathroom, but then he sneaks around the long way, cutting through the kitchen, to the guest room, the room he figures will be the baby’s nursery, at least until they move somewhere bigger. It’s something he needs to talk to Mackenzie about, maybe when she gets off skype. 

  

**********

 

“Will?” Mackenzie ends up calling out. He’s not in the bedroom or bathroom or living room. She walks through the kitchen and finds he’s not there either, but she hears him reply. She goes to the guest room, sees him sitting on the floor by a packing box. It’s open, and it seems half the contents are out on the floor. It’s one of her boxes. “Going through my things?” she teases as she comes in. She plops to the carpet next to him.

Will looks up at her. “No, uh –” In his hand is a photo frame, the picture of her and Will from a party long ago. It used to sit on her dresser, when they were dating. “You kept this?”

Mackenzie takes the image from his hand, has a better look at it. They look so young. She’d had too much wine, and her cheeks are bright red, but damn she looks happy hanging off his arm. “What can I say? I was pining for you.” She pauses briefly, gives him that cute smile. “A little.” She gives the frame back to him and he puts it back in the box. She makes a noise and holds out her hand, and he takes it out again, gives it back. She’ll put it back on her dresser. “Did you… keep things from me? When – or did you throw them all away?”

Will gives her a rather intense expression and then looks away to the box. “I got rid of most of it,” he says quietly.

It shouldn’t hurt. But it kind of does. How awful to be erased from someone’s life. When you still love them.

“Oh,” Mackenzie says. She didn’t get rid of a thing. She put them all away, so she didn’t have to look at them all the time, the gifts and photos and the things that reminded her of him, but she never had the heart to throw them in the rubbish, to get rid of them forever. She thinks there were some things she might have wanted back from him. Her things. But he never sent them and she never asked. He never communicated a word after that moment he shut her out of his apartment. And at the time, she never knew if he got her messages and ignored them, or just never got them.

“I didn’t want –”

“Each to their own –” Mackenzie starts a second after.

“I shouldn’t have –”

“You didn’t know we’d be sitting here one day,” she says kindly. Will considers that. And Mackenzie changes the subject. “This room looks a little different than the last time I was in here,” she notes, looking around at the mostly empty space. “A lot more room,” she looks back to him, eyebrows inviting an explanation.

“I figured this would be the nursery?”

“A good assumption,” Mackenzie gets to her feet.

“So I thought we should empty it out.”

“We?” She looks down at him.

“You’re busy,” he states.

“So you’re the little elf who’s been unpacking.” She goes to a box in the corner, it’s still sealed. It says ‘kitchen’ in her handwriting, but the kitchen is unpacked, so she can’t remember what’s in this box specifically.

“Is that ok?”

“Yes Will,” she says lightly, picking the tape with her fingernail. It tears down the middle, but it’s enough for her to get a finger under the lip of the box and tear it open the rest of the way. She feels Will come up behind her quietly. She pulls back the flaps to reveal an old toaster, her old kettle. She remembers now why she left them. Will’s are all practically brand new, and modern, of course. Her worn appliances wouldn’t fit in the new modern kitchen. “We should take these to goodwill,” she turns to him.

“Sure,” he agrees. “I’ll get someone to pick them up next week.”

“Are there other things to go to goodwill?”

“Well, I don’t know about your things, you’d have to go through them.”

Mackenzie gives him a smile; that was obvious. “Let’s do that after lunch.”

“Are you hungry?” Will immediately jumps.

“I’m starting to feel hungry yeah.”

“Let me make you something,” he goes to the door. Mackenzie follows after him, catches his arm in the hallway. He stops and looks down at her.

“Let me make something for _you_ ,” she says instead, lacing their fingers and brushing past him, leading him towards the kitchen. “And then later you can hang the pictures.”


	24. Chapter 24

Mackenzie makes patty melts. She actually makes a fair patty melt, for a Brit. She toasts both sides of the bread, so the cheese gets a head start on melting, and uses Swiss and American, for that extra flavour. It was the first thing she ever cooked for him, and it gets him thinking more about the past, about throwing away her things and refusing to speak to her for all those years; he feels regretful. When it comes to Mackenzie, he has a lot of regret. And now, he supposes, he also has the time to make up for it.

They put up Mackenzie’s art, and argue over where to hang the frames. Considering Will’s last apartment was 80% glass, he doesn’t have any to contribute. It’s a nice kind of arguing though, the kind that reminds him of why he loves her, her sharp mind and passion. And he doesn’t really mind losing, which he invariably does. To be fair, he doesn’t mind Mackenzie’s art. It’s not overly floral, nor are there weird modern prints of abstract shapes that have the potential to give him a migraine. He actually quite likes the photograph of some mountain on the Pakistan border (that she climbed while she was there and took herself), so really, it’s not losing at all. She lies on their bed while he hangs the last one, moving it an inch left, then right, up and down, and slightly back to the right, until it’s exactly where he had it in the first place, and she deems it perfect. He presses the frame against the wall to let the sticky hooks adhere and when he turns around again, he finds Mackenzie has her eyes closed.

He almost asks her if she’s asleep, but that would be beside the point wouldn’t it? As he’s walking towards the bed her eyes flicker open anyway. She gives him a smile and reaches out a hand. “Looks great,” she says.

He takes her hand and she pulls on him lightly, so he kneels on the mattress. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Just resting my eyes,” she murmurs sleepily, pulling him closer, until he lays down next to her.

“You were asleep,” Will states.

“Hm, I got sleepy.”

“Have a nap.”

“No, that’s ok, we were talking.”

“Honey, have a nap,” he says more firmly.

“K, wake me in an hour?”

“Sure,” he says. He falls asleep himself and when Mackenzie wakes, she’s not sure how long she’s been asleep. She feels good though, rested, which is nice, and Will is warm next to her. She slides away from him to use the bathroom, but comes back and lays like she was that morning, reading on her phone while waiting for her husband to wake up in his own time.

She Googles depression, because while she understands ‘just broke up with my boyfriend’ and ‘just lost my job’ and ‘I’ve been stabbed, I’m lucky to be alive’ depression, she doesn’t get clinical depression, and if Will is telling her he has that, then that’s something she needs to know about. She finds a list of symptoms (sleep disturbance, fatigue, loss of interest in normally pleasurable activities, feeling sad; a lack of hope), and yeah, that kind of describes Will right now. She can’t remember the last time she heard him play his guitar, let alone them having sex. She goes deeper, reading people’s personal accounts of how they feel when they’re in a depressive episode; it’s inexplicably difficult to get out of bed, to take a shower, to remember to eat. One guy describes his soul feeling heavy, which makes Mackenzie’s soul feel heavy; she wishes she could make it better for Will. She knows that she can’t, not in a ‘click her fingers fairy godmother’ type of making it instantly better. But she could help, she figures, in some way. Surely there’s some way she can help him?

So, she Googles treatments (anti-depressant medications and therapy) and figures Will has that covered. Or at least, she hopes he does. She hopes he takes the meds and is still going to see Habib (she’s pretty sure he is). But she wonders what else she can do. As his wife and support. She’s trying different search combinations, not finding what she wants (finds more and more anecdotes of people sharing their stories so that other depressed people know they’re not alone) when Will wakes.

“Did something break?”

Mackenzie looks over at him, a slight frown, until she realises he’s talking about _the_ _news._ “No,” she says, dropping her phone on the bedside table and turning, snuggling down against his chest. She feels sad, but mostly for him, she thinks. And because it’s not something he can snap out of. No quick fix. It’s going to be a process. And she doesn’t like the idea of him being sad, or being unwell, or just not feeling good.

Will stretches beneath her and it makes her feel hyper-aware of his body. And hers. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says, relaxing back into place, draping a hand into the curve of her neck. His fingers scratch into her skull, making her scalp tingle. “Did you sleep long?”

“I don’t know,” she says, moving so she can see his face. “At least half an hour? I feel good and rested.”

“That’s good,” he says softly, his gaze tender.

Mackenzie gives him a slight smile. “Will, I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Even the hard stuff and –”

“I know,” he interrupts.

“And I _know_ you see a therapist, and I do think that’s really great, but I want for us to also talk about things.”

“I know,” he says again.

“It’s important.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says for a third time. “I’m trying.”

“How did we get to the point where you can’t? Never mind,” she quickly adds. “I think I know.”

“It’s not because of –”

“Brian,” Mackenzie fills in. “Yes it is.”

“It’s not!” Will says vehemently, which only seems disbelieving.

“My point is,” Mackenzie says determinedly. “That we can talk about anything you want to talk about and I hope that you do want to talk about some things with me, sometime.”

“I do,” Will says but then he finds his throat tight and it’s suddenly too hard to start talking; he’s on the spot.

“Sometime,” Mackenzie adds and gives him a slight smile. She shifts up so she can press her mouth against his. “We’ve been interrupted.”

“What do you mean?” He asks quietly.

“Well, a long time ago, we were tentatively on track with things and then we got interrupted by –” she hesitates.

The break up.

He nods.

“And again, now, with you going to prison. We’ve been interrupted again.”

“Are you saying we should start over?”

“No,” Mackenzie muses. “That would be a little difficult given that we _are_ married and that I’m also _pregnant_. I don’t know,” she shrugs awkwardly against the mattress. “I think this is good though, being together and talking and just…” She looks over at the print on the opposite wall. “I don’t like that picture there.”

Will gets up off the bed and takes it down. “It’s going in the hall,” he says as he walks out of the bedroom door.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie lays on the couch, reading one of the mommy-to-be books, while Will flicks through an online newspaper, the laptop resting on his knees, humming and blasting warm air onto the side of Mackenzie’s bare ankle. She shifts to tuck her toes under Will’s thigh and he lifts it ever-so-slightly so she has more room.

“Why didn’t you tell me Greg Alexander has a drinking problem?” Will says suddenly.

“Huh?” Mackenzie dips her book to see his face.

“’Apparently ‘high-ups’ at ACN are well aware of Alexander’s drinking…’” He quotes and looks over at her.

Mackenzie stares at him. “Are you reading gossip magazines?”

“I’m reading the news!”

“That’s not news,” Mackenzie scoffs.

“Because you already knew about it.”

Mackenzie gives him a slight frown. “I’m not going to _gossip_ about an employee – how did they even find out?” She starts to sit but Will turns the laptop and hands it to her so she can read the article for herself. And yes, it’s on the TMI website.

“So you knew?” Will asks.

“Yes I knew,” Mackenzie murmurs while she reads the last line. She gives the laptop back. Will is looking at her, expectantly. “What is there to say Will? Alexander’s business is his business.”

“Is he showing up to work drunk?”

“That’s definitely none of your business.”

“That’s a yes,” Will mutters and goes back to the screen.

“Actually, it’s a ‘no’,” Mackenzie corrects, a flare of heat in her cheeks because he provoked her to answer, and she caved. “Will, why do you care what Alexander’s doing? Revenge –”

“Of course not!” Will says, offended, or at least faking it. “I was just wondering why you hadn’t told me.”

“Was I meant to?”

Will gives a heavy shrug. “Thought we shared that kind of information.”

“Gossip?” Mackenzie asks, confused.

“Work stuff.”

“That’s not work stuff, Will.”

“Fine,” he says tightly and moves to get up.

“Don’t walk away,” Mackenzie tries. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Will stands by the couch, looking down at her. “Never mind.”

Mackenzie rolls her eyes back down to her book, “Fine.”

“All right fine,” Will says. “I don’t like that you kept information from me.”

“No,” Mackenzie replies sharply. “You don’t like that I knew something you didn’t! Because I’m the –”

“That’s ridiculous,” Will scoffs.

“It’s not,” Mackenzie scoots her ass back along the couch so she’s sitting. He’s very tall. “Holy shit Will, I don’t want to fight over Greg fucking Alexander!” She stands in front of him. Barefoot. She still has to look up.

Will stands where he is and stares at her a moment. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” she almost pleads. 

“I hate that –” He stops himself abruptly.

“Yes?” Mackenzie asks, softening her eyes. _Please tell me._

Will shakes his head, and Mackenzie thinks he’s physically incapable of talking to her. Of trusting her? She doesn’t get it. But they were fine an hour ago and now this? She leans out further to reach him. “I didn’t tell you about Alexander because I can’t share – pillow talk, if it gets out, it would end both of our careers. I don’t have to tell you how precarious the situation already is.”

“I know that,” Will says tightly.

Mackenzie reaches for his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t mean to shut you out, if that’s what you think I’m doing. I’m not doing that.”

“I don’t think you’re doing that.”

“You do think that – you just accused me –”

“I didn’t accuse –”

“We’ve had some stupid fights in the past but Will, this one seems particularly ridiculous,” she says exasperatedly. “What’s really going on?”

“I don’t know,” Will says. The honesty must surprise him because his eyes go just as wide as hers. “I just feel weird. I know you’re not keeping secrets –”

“Jesus, is this about Brian again?”

“No, it’s not about Brian!” Will does retract his hand. He stalks around the coffee table and stands in front of her again, but with the furniture between them, his hands on his hips.

“Will, I really don’t know what to make of –”

“Neither do I!” He says loudly. “Fuck. I’m sorry I keep –” He gestures between them. “I’m trying to figure things out.”

“What things?” Mackenzie asks quietly.

“How to talk to you.”

She gives him the wide eyes again. There’s a pause before she says, “You can’t talk to me?”

“No,” Will starts and then realises how that sounds. “No, I mean, yes, I can talk to you, this isn’t because I can’t talk to you.”

“It sounds exactly like you’re saying – Jesus Will, you’ve gotten incredibly…”

“Confusing?”

“I was going to say bellicose,” she says loftily. “But yes, confusing. We go from afternoon naps and cuddles to having a fight about _I don’t even know what!_ ” She plops to the couch. “Why does this keep happening? Why does it feel like every conversation evolves in to a fight?”

“We’ve always fought,” Will points out.

“A passionate debate is _not_ a fight,” Mackenzie retorts.

Will sighs and half steps towards the fireplace. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that I don’t know what to do to make it better,” tears spring to her eyes. “God I hate crying so much,” she mutters to herself.

Will moves to the couch and sits by her. He takes one of her hands carefully and holds it reverently and after a moment’s silence he looks over at her. “Can I be honest?”

“Would you?”

“I don’t think I know how to do this anymore.”

“Will –” Mackenzie starts, horrified.

“And I think I need to figure it out.”

“For a second there I thought you were going to say we should get a divorce.”

“Jesus, no! Never. Never ever. We should never break up – in fact, we should never spend any time apart ever again. We were back on track with things. We talked about –” He stops abruptly.

“The break up?” Mackenzie supplies lightly.

“Yeah. We talked about the break up months ago, and things were good. And then I went to prison.”

“Yeah.”

“And things got messy again.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know how to communicate,” Will states, as it suddenly hits him.

Mackenzie looks at him, studies him, but there is still no pity and he realises he doesn’t feel ashamed to admit that failure. That has to be a good sign, right? That he can say to his wife that he’s failing, and she doesn’t look at him like she’d like to run a mile? Or that he’s a worthless piece of shit?

“You can learn that, you know,” Mackenzie says softly. Will blinks at her. “To communicate? You can learn. I don’t think I could teach you, seeing as I sometimes wonder how good at it I am myself.”

Will shakes his head and she stops talking. “It’s not you.”

“You know, Will. A marriage involves two people. Not everything is just you all the time.”

“Do you think I’m fucked up?”

Mackenzie blinks at him, surprised. “No,” she utters. She moves so their knees are pressed against each other, and slides her free hand, her left, through the hair at his temple, like she’s combing it back. “You need a haircut. You’re not a _fuck up_ Will. You’re not fucked up, a fuck up, or nor are you _fucking_ _up_. Honey, there’s _nothing_ wrong with you. You’re not a colossal – look, sometimes when we don’t feel good we take it out on the people around us, who care for us the most. That’s me. And I don’t mind that Will, because I’d rather you talk to me, or yell at me, than bottle it and then do something stupid like take too many pills while drinking too much –”

“That wasn’t on purpose.”

“I doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t. It happened. You were _drinking_ and taking pills. You didn’t feel good and you ended up in the hospital getting your _stomach_ pumped. And you don’t feel good now. And it’s coming out in these fits and starts and I’ll take it,” tears spring to her eyes again, and they make her voice huskier than usual. “I’ll take it _all_ because I _love_ you and so long as we’re _figuring it out_ then it doesn’t matter how that happens or how _long_ it takes because I’m _here_ ,” the tears spill. Will pulls her against him and she tucks her chin against his shoulder. “I love you Will. I just want to work it out. That’s all. You’re not fucked up, you’re just… Things are hard for you. There are things that are hard for me sometimes too and I can act like a real bitch but you forgive me and you love me and that’s enough. We’ll get there. _Everyone_ struggles sometimes with some _things_ but that doesn’t make you less,” she pulls back so she can see his face, but stays close. “It’s ok. It’s ok to be lost and confused and you’re not sure where to go. That’s not all of who you are.” She wipes at the tear on Will’s own cheek and draws his chin up to look her in the eye. “Will, I’ll help you find the words. That’s what I want.”

“You already have,” he says roughly and presses his mouth hard against hers.

 


	25. Chapter 25

“I know this is entirely bad timing,” Mackenzie starts as she sits at the breakfast bar, peeling a brown onion. Will stands opposite her, reading the back of a packet for burrito mince. He looks up, she senses, but she focuses on the stubborn onion skin, picking at it with the blade of a knife. “But I was planning on going down to DC next week.”

“What for?” Will asks quietly.

She does look up then and she regrets it. The part about going to DC, not looking at her husband. Her heart does break a little, at his sorrowful expression.

_We should never spend any time apart ever again._

“I need to go and…” she pouts a little as she thinks of the right words. “Settle things.”

Will gives a slight frown.

“I need to go and, firstly, meet everyone down there, and then, kind of ensure a smooth transition between me and Charlie.”

Will nods. “It has to be next week?”

“I’ve already put it off because I’ve been so busy and I really don’t feel like I should leave it any longer,” Mackenzie rationalises. She almost begs, but she’s not asking for his permission. She’s telling him. But she also wants him to know that she’s not going because they had an intense conversation twenty minutes ago. And that she knows the timing is shitty, because of the intense conversation they had twenty minutes ago.

“When next week?”

“Thursday. Maybe stay overnight till Friday,” she goes back to peeling the onion. “Depending on –”

“Jane Barrow?” Will cuts in.

She looks up and gives him a slight laugh. “Maybe,” she says coyly.

“Is she?” Will starts. “Never mind,” he says, looking away. He goes to the cupboard and starts taking down jars of ground spices.

Mackenzie is still not sure why it’s so important to him to know _everything_. Maybe it’s just that he has to know _things_. Or maybe he has to know things about _her._ And she doesn’t know why that’s such an issue now.Maybe because of him being in prison. Or maybe it’s now that they don’t work together all day. She’s not known him to be clingy, if that’s what this is, but if he needs reassurances right now…

“I haven’t heard of any dissent, but we both know what Jane’s like,” Mackenzie adds.

“Hm,” Will says from the cupboard. He consults his packet and reaches for one more thing.

“You could come with me,” she goes on. “Fly down Thursday after the show? Come back Friday morning. Then we could still have the night together.”

Will turns and reaches for a pan from the rack hanging above their heads.

“Of course, I might have to work most of Friday, probably, so that means we probably _won’t_ have a lot of time together, but we could stay another night. Make a weekend of it. Or, wait, that doesn’t work because you have to be back for the show,” she frowns. “We could –”

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re back on Friday we’ll still have the weekend together,” Will notes, turning the gas and lighting it. “Hurry up with the onion.”

Mackenzie picks up the knife and cuts the onion in half. “Is that a genuine ‘don’t worry about it’ or are you just saying that so I –” she waves the knife as she talks.

“It’s a genuine ‘don’t worry about it’,” Will says, leaning on the edge of the bench, holding her eye. “So long as you’re back for the weekend, I’m ok. I will text a lot though.” He gives her a matter-of-fact kind of expression and it makes her smile. All is not lost if he’s making jokes.

“I will look forward to them all.” She dices up one half of the onion, while Will gets other ingredients from the fridge; fresh lettuce, tomatoes and carrots.

“What’s with sour cream? Are you allowed it?” He asks.

“It would be nice to go away for the weekend, sometime,” Mackenzie says. She looks up at him. “I don’t know about sour cream.” She puts the knife down to reach for her blackberry.

“You cut that,” Will huffs. “And I’ll look it up.” He pulls his device from his pocket and Mackenzie goes back to the onion.

“We still haven’t gone on our honeymoon,” she adds.

“Hm,” he responds.

“You know, when I was talking to my Mum before, she invited us to go and stay with them sometime.”

“She always invites us,” Will says absently, scrolling.

Mackenzie pushes the chopping board with the diced onion towards her husband, and puts the knife down. “So I would like to go before I have the baby. I haven’t been home in years.”

Will looks up, “For Thanksgiving?”

“I can’t fly then, I’ll be in the third trimester. We might just have to take some time off; make it a long weekend.”

“Why can’t you fly in the third trimester?”

“I don’t know. It’s a thing. Probably so I don’t give birth on the plane.”

Will gives her a slightly baffled expression and goes back to his phone. “Sour cream is ok, but don’t eat any leftovers.”

“Ok,” Mackenzie says. “Can you pass the tomatoes?”

Will scrolls some more on his blackberry.

“Will? Tomatoes?”

Will reaches absently for one, swiping at air, while Mackenzie watches amused, still scrolling with his thumb. “You can fly in the third trimester. Just not the last month.”

“To – really?” Mackenzie asks, surprised.

Will reaches out to give her the phone and she reads for herself that so long as she and the baby are in good health, it’s ok to fly up to thirty-six weeks. She’ll be nearly thirty-two weeks by then, but that’s still plenty of time. Will dumps the onions into the pan and they hiss loudly as they start to sweat. He washes down the chopping board and slides it back towards her, then passes over two tomatoes. “You want to go for Thanksgiving?”

“They’re not going to celebrate Thanksgiving, but yes,” she looks up, hopeful. “For the long weekend. Yes?”

Will nods.

“We can go to your family for Christmas, or have them here.”

“No,” Will says bluntly, going to the fridge for the pack of minced beef.

“What do you mean no?” Mackenzie puts his blackberry down, and picks up the knife again.

“I mean ‘no’, as in ‘not happening’,” Will clarifies. He grabs a wooden spoon and tends to his onions. He adds a little oil and turns down the gas. “We can go and see your family at Thanksgiving, but I don’t want to see anyone on Christmas.”

“No one?” Mackenzie echoes, squinting at him as she tries to figure him out.

“I want it to be just you and me.” He inclines his head, “And the baby.” Mackenzie opens her mouth. “No work colleagues, no one happening to stop by, no surprise visits, no going out to see other people,” he sweeps his hand through the air. “Just you and me. And the baby. All day. On Christmas.”

Mackenzie waits to make sure he’s done. “Why?” She asks slowly.

“Don’t you get tired of everyone being around all the time? Ok, I know you don’t,” he shifts his weight on his feet. “But I do. And it’s our first Christmas together since… And married. And with the baby,” he gestures to her abdomen. “That’s the trade for Thanksgiving.”

“It’s a trade?” Mackenzie asks, her voice rising slightly.

“Yeah. Four days of your family at Thanksgiving, for twenty-four hours on Christmas Day, knowing that you’re also going to make me go to probably a dozen staff parties and whatever else pretty much between Thanksgiving and Christmas anyway, and then there’s New Year’s.”

Mackenzie tries to hide a smile, dropping her gaze to the tomatoes. She slices one in half.

“Also a dozen of never ending parties and champagne,” Will points out.

“I’m not going to be able to drink,” Mackenzie pouts. “And I’ll be nearly nine months pregnant at that point so…”

“Are you saying you’re not going to go to all those parties?”

“Maybe not all of them. I’ll see how I feel,” Mackenzie concedes lightly.

“Then we’ll renegotiate at the time,” Will turns for the spices he left under the cupboards. He scoops up the jars and brings them to where he’s working.

Mackenzie gives a silent chuckle and then sobers. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to see your family for Christmas? Any of them?”

Will looks up and fixes her with a straight expression. “No.”

“Have you talked to them recently?”

“How recently?”

“The last – since you got out of prison?”

Will shakes his head and stirs the onions.

“Before prison?”

Will shakes his head again.

“You told them we were getting married right? Yes, I know you did, seeing as I had to call and tell them it was off.”

Will looks over at her but he says nothing.

“Are you going to tell them we’re having a baby?”

Will shrugs but pouts his mouth, so she knows that’s a ‘no’.

“Will,” she admonishes lightly, bemused. “You don’t want to share that with them?”

“When the baby comes we’ll send them a card. No,” he corrects himself. “We’ll tell Sarah, and she’ll tell everyone else.”

Mackenzie gives a snort, mostly to hide that she finds him funny, when she shouldn’t. “I thought things had gotten better with them?”

Will gives her a shrug.

“When was the last time you even saw them?” Mackenzie asks. And then answers herself at the same time Will says: “Your father’s funeral.” He raises his eyebrows at her, impressed that she remembered? “Sorry.”

Will stirs the onions again. “It’s not that things have gotten worse, or even that they’re better. It just is what it is.”

“I remember,” Mackenzie says in response. It’s complicated, like most of the things in Will’s life. The younger two, Sarah and Michael, don’t really remember much about their childhoods, certainly not the violence, because Will stopped it when they were still very young. And Tracey, the next in line to Will, who does remember it, has been trying to gloss over everything that happened; a ‘if I don’t talk about it, it never existed’ policy, or, as Will sees it ‘it’s not as bad as you make it out to be’. It makes Will bitter. It’s not that he’s looking for accolades for swinging a bottle in their father’s face. He’s just looking for acknowledgement. He doesn’t want to deny his problems stem from what his father did and he doesn’t want anyone else to either. It’s become a point of contention.

“So we’re agreed on Christmas then?” Will says, adding the mince to the pan.

Mackenzie thinks for a moment, dicing her tomato. Will stabs at the meat with his wooden spoon, breaking it up. “Yes,” she looks over at him. “I think I can handle that.”

Will gives her a smile and then washes the meat tray. He pops open the dishwasher drawer and slides it into the rack. Mackenzie finishes with her tomato. Will gives her the carrots next and adds the spices to the mince, then the instant burrito packet and a cup of water. The mixture sizzles away until the pan cools. The kitchen falls silent as they work.

“Kiss,” Mackenzie says.

“Huh?”

“Seal it with a kiss. Our Thanksgiving deal.”

“Christmas Deal,” Will corrects, but he comes around the bench and cups his hands around her jaw and ears, tilting her head up to meet his and then pressing is mouth against her lips. He holds her firmly for a few long seconds and then lets her go, but he doesn’t move away. Mackenzie throws her arms up and around his neck, drawing him in again for another kiss; more heated. He doesn’t pull away from her. He tucks his hands against her waist, leaning in slightly and kisses her properly. Mackenzie can’t remember the last time they kissed like this; it would have to have been weeks.

Will tapers the kiss and lets her go. He walks back around the bench to rescue his mince, while Mackenzie grins like crazy to herself. She snags the lettuce and shreds it with the knife, making a neat pile on her chopping board.

“Five minutes,” Will announces.

“Better get the bread in the oven,” Mackenzie directs.

“Yeah,” he agrees, prompted by her reminder. He tears open the packet and then retrieves the foil from the cupboard.

“Hey Will?”

“Yeah?” He looks over at her.

“We totally communicated.”

He blinks at her a second and then gives a slight smile; his proud one. “Yeah,” he agrees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anybody help me out? I'm wanting to know what News Nights ratings were (not during Genoa). I'd appreciate if anyone knows, or can point me to an ep where it's mentioned. Thanks.


	26. Chapter 26

“What were the numbers?” Will asks as Mackenzie walks back to her office, phone pressed against her ear. It’s tricky to open her office door with her other hand occupied with folders, but she manages it, by using her ass, just as Millie gets out of her chair to help. She shoots the other woman a grateful smile anyway and drops the folders on her desk.

“They were fine Will,” she tells her husband, nudging the mouse on the desk to end the screensaver, so she can see if any urgent emails have come through. “Good. One point one.” She thinks she hears him say ‘hm’ or maybe ‘good’ but she’s not sure. “Are you in yet?”

“Just walking now.”

Really? She can’t hear street noise at all. Maybe he’s in the building. “Ok,” she says. “See you for lunch?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “I’ll pick something up.”

“Thanks honey, love you,” she says.

“Love you too,” he repeats confidently. He hangs up and slips his phone into his pocket, then turns and goes up the stairs to the second level and lets himself into the waiting room. There’s no one there, and it’s gloomy; grey clouds mar the sky today. He stands by the window and tucks his hands into his pockets and looks out on to the street, a slight breeze ruffles the branches of the tree paved into the sidewalk. It’s quiet, and he can hear the thud of his heartbeat in his ears from the exertion of climbing the stairs. But he’s not short of breath or dizzy, so it’s not time to panic about his heart.

He turns at the sound of a door opening and Habib is there, greeting him with a smile and suggesting he go into the other office. Will takes a seat while the doctor closes the door and when he has also taken his seat, opposite Will, Will thanks the doctor for fitting him in this Monday morning.

“It’s not a problem, Will,” Jacob says in his measured way. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah. I just really felt like I needed to talk,” Will explains. Or confesses.

“Has something happened?”

“In a way.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m ok. And Makenzie and the baby are ok, as far as I know, because I know you’re going to ask.”

The doctor looks a little chagrin.

“Something happened on the weekend,” Will begins. “With Mackenzie. She – we talked and I told her about the depression thing,” he hesitates over the words; it’s not easy to admit, even now, even with the guy who diagnosed him in the first place.

Dr Habib’s eyebrows go up. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, and the thing is, it’s – she’s amazing. She – it’s like you said. She doesn’t think I’m a burden.” He can’t help but smile, and his chest feels so light.

Habib nods. “That’s great Will. You came down here to tell me that?”

“Yes. But also, I need to know how to communicate properly. I want to be able to talk to Mackenzie, about all of this stuff,” he waves his hand in the air.

“You can’t at the moment?”

“I feel like the words just won’t come out sometimes,” Will admits stiltedly.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What could some of the reasons be?”

“I don’t know,” Will repeats, starting to feel annoyed. This is why he comes here, because he doesn’t know.

“Give me one reason. Doesn’t have to be the best reason,” Habib doesn’t give up.

Will looks to the window while he quickly thinks. “I don’t want to look weak.”

Habib nods. “That’s a good reason.”

Will resists the urge to respond with something patronising and droll. Especially because he said he’d try, when he was here, to work _with_ the therapist.

“Because you don’t want to show weakness?” The doctor goes on.

“Sure,” Will agrees.

“Because your father taught you to never show weakness?”

“Sure,” Will agrees, this time his tone flat.

“What would your father do if you showed weakness at home?”

“He’d hit me,” Will says bluntly, almost defiant. “You know all of this. Why do you keep bringing it up?”

“Because you keep bringing it up.”

“I’m pretty sure you mention my father in just about every session.”

“Because you keep bringing it up,” Jacob repeats firmly.

Will folds his arms over his chest and sits back in his chair, turning his head away in defiance. “If we showed weakness, by my father’s definitions, he’d hit us. Me the worst, because I was a boy, and the eldest, and boys aren’t allowed to be weak,” Will grits out, anger making his cheeks feel hot. “And if he happened to slip and show any weakness himself, well then he’d use his fists to show us what a big man he was.”

“What was his definition of weakness?”

“It was hard to tell sometimes,” Will replies sharply. He takes a quick breath to try and calm down again.

“When would he hit you?”

“When he was drunk.”

“After you did something in particular, or he just hit you when he was drunk for no reason?”

Will feels his nostrils flare. Seriously, _they’ve been over this._ “You know the answer to that,” he says, shifting in his seat.

“Humour me,” Jacob requests gently.

“It was if we did something. We’d do something and he’d get angry and start hitting,” Will says tightly.

“What kinds of things?” Habib pushes.

Will fights the urge to get out of his chair and pace around. “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re getting at?”

“I’m just trying to get a gauge on what you consider weakness, as defined by your father.”

“Wetting the bed,” Will blurts out. “Or dropping a football. Having difficulty reading a word,” Will throws up his hands and shifts forward in his seat, almost out of it.

“Those sound like things you can hardly help, as a child.”

“Well, we should have helped it,” Will shoots back. “Apparently.”

“So he defined weakness as inability?”

“I guess,” Will says shortly.

Habib nods. “Are you your father Will?”

“No,” he answers automatically.”

“Do you think you’re weak?”

“In what way?”

“The way your father defines it,” Jacob responds gently; always calm, always reasonable.

Will takes a breath to rattle off a list, but he suddenly can’t think of anything. He was a star football player in college, he once pitched a shutout game, he finished near the top of his class in graduate school, was a _very_ successful prosecution lawyer, and now he’s a celebrity news anchor. He’s married. He’s got a kid on the way. The drinking and drug taking was a bit iffy for a while there, but he’s got that under control; he’s even given up smoking. He’s never hit anyone in anger, even though there were times when he really, _really,_ wanted to. He’s never cheated. Never even came close.

“Mackenzie’s my weakness,” Will says. “From the moment I met her I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And I’ve done some downright crazy things in regards to her.”

Habib smiles slightly. “Is that so bad?”

Will gives a shrug of his mouth, considering it. He thinks about when they broke up, which turns out, was entirely his doing. He’s not really proud of that now, now that he knows the full story, but he’s not sure he can label that as weakness. Maybe all the shit he did after, when she came back from Afghanistan and he was trying to punish her. He really went all out.

“What are you thinking about?” Habib asks gently.

“Mackenzie. When we broke up. I – not sure if that was weak or just pig headed.”

“You were hurt,” Jacob rationalises. “It’s not an unreasonable reaction. But no, that’s not weakness.”

“I took her back.”

“She took _you_ back,” Habib retorts, and it makes Will flush. “But no, that doesn’t make you weak. If Mackenzie used you only to get what she wanted, and didn’t love you, and you still couldn’t stay away from her, I might consider that weak.”

Will frowns at that.

“Which isn’t what happened,” Habib points out.

“No,” Will agrees.

_She took you back._

Now, that’s an interesting way to look at it. He _was_ a total prick to her. Especially about the ring. But the rest of it wasn’t so great either.

“Does that make Mackenzie weak for taking me back?” Will asks curiously.

“Not weak. She was in love with you. You weren’t using her, though you _were_ punishing her. She would have reached her breaking point eventually and moved on again.”

Harrowing thought.

“We still haven’t established you showing weakness,” Habib directs.

“What about coming here?” Will points out. “Needing a therapist?”

“You could argue that it’s entirely the opposite. That it takes great strength to ask for help.”

The doctor pauses for a just a second. “Do you think Mackenzie thinks you’re weak for coming here?”

Will takes a second to answer, not because he needs to think of the response, but because he was taken aback by the therapist’s words. _It takes great strength to ask for help._ “No. She doesn’t. Is Mackenzie my barometer for life?”

“Her opinion is the one that matters the most to you, isn’t it? She’s the one you worry about, the one you want to impress, and the one you listen to the most. So if she tells you you’re not weak, I’m inclined to think you’ll believe it.”

“Why don’t you just call her up and tell her what to say to me to fix everything?”

“Because, surprisingly enough, she agrees with me without me having to do that.”

Will sits in silence for a moment, digesting that little titbit.

“You have difficulty talking to Mackenzie, because you’re afraid she’ll see you as weak, which, defined by your father, means that you’re failing at something. But we’ve established you’re not a failure. And you’re not your father. And you came in here this morning telling me you talked to Mackenzie about being depressed and it was awesome.”

Will blinks at his therapist.

Habib raises his eyebrows, eyes alight with the scent of a breakthrough in the air. “Will?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He did. “And then I asked you to help me learn to communicate.”

“Yes,” Habib notes, not entirely perturbed that Will’s not more enthusiastic with the results of the session than he is.

“And we went off on a tangent.”

Habib’s face crumbles ever-so-slightly and Will feels bad (and the pompous belief that he’s better than other people, smarter and quicker and always right, that _is_ his father. But he’ll save that one for another day, because the shame of it is so great, he doesn’t think anything constructive would come out of bringing it up just yet). “Yeah we did,” the psychiatrist agrees. “But an important and relevant one, I feel. Maybe you can think about how it’s not so hard to talk to Mackenzie after all, even though you keep believing that it is. There is strong evidence to the contrary.”

This is the heart of the doctor’s job: showing Will that the things he believes in, the negative things, the things that bother him, aren’t true. So Will figures that today, the man has earned his fee.

“Why does everything come back to my father?” Will blurts.

“He’s had a very large impact on your life, Will.”

“Is everything I say and do in direct relation to him?”

“In some ways,” Habib says, almost as if he’s thought of this for the first time. “You spend a lot of time trying not to emulate him. You compare how people behave towards you against his criteria.”

Will feel his heart beating uncomfortably. That couldn’t possibly be true could it?

“He’s set the standard for your relationships Will, whether you think about it consciously or not. When you grow up in an environment like that, it will, unfortunately, have a great effect on your life. He taught you many things about distrust, about manipulation, about control, about the use of violence and bullying and conditional love. And because of that, because it will take a long time to unravel and undo, we spend a lot of time talking about it.”

Conditional love.

Mackenzie doesn’t love him conditionally. She loves him despite everything. She goes on loving him, no matter what he does or says or how much distance is between them, no matter how much time has passed (it was he that didn’t want to believe it when he saw it). And he loves her too, no matter what, it seems, but that hasn’t always meant he’s let her know that, has it? He tried to make her believe he didn’t love her. He tried to punish her as much as he could, to act indifferently, to make her feel bad about herself, guilty, to make him feel better about himself.

 _She took_ you _back._

“And as for the communicating thing,” Habib slaps his hands down on his knees and then gets to his feet. “I can give you something to read over.” He goes to a filing cabinet at the side and pulls the top middle drawer. “But I think you’ll find you’re actually a pretty good communicator anyway.” He rifles through and withdraws a sheet on paper. “Seeing as you went to law school.” He closes the drawer and comes back to where Will is sitting. He gives him the paper. “Clarification and assertiveness.”

Yeah, Will doesn’t lack that.

“But read the bit about getting stressed during emotional conversations and maybe we can talk about that next time I see you. Wednesday right?”

“Right,” Will looks up at the other man, who has perched on the arm of his own chair, opposite Will. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Habib says, all genial smiles again. “I thought it was a good session today Will. I’m glad to have seen you.”

Will gets to his feet. “Yeah, me too.” He reaches out a hand to the doctor, who stands to shake it. “See you on Wednesday,” he says.

“Take care Will.”


	27. Chapter 27

_Mackenzie McAvoy_ , Mackenzie reads, _nee McHale_. She rolls her eyes. _Has apparently slept her way to the top, Rush Limbaugh announced today on his morning show_. ‘She arrives out of the blue to run News Night, next minute she’s marrying the star anchor and getting promoted to news director of the recently sold Atlantis Cable News’ Mr Limbaugh railed. ‘I’m not saying she’s sleeping with the boss – oh no wait, I _am’_ the popular shock jock joked.

Mackenzie closes the web page. Well, it took two weeks, but here it is. The backlash. Inevitable, she supposes, given ACN’s unfortunate run in the headlines recently. Firstly Genoa, then the swift sale, which lead to a slew of rumours surrounding the Lansing’s finances. Then there was Will’s imprisonment, their sudden marriage and Charlie’s untimely death. And now her promotion. She’d be entirely happy for all things relating to ACN to go quiet for a while.

She can just imagine the crap they’re going to write when they find out she’s pregnant. Pregnant _before_ she got married too, if they can do math.

A tap on her office door is a welcome distraction. It’s Jim, and he’s leading in a slight woman with long, light brown hair. “Are you busy?” Jim asks politely, but of course she’s not, because they set this meeting up last week, so she’s prepared.

“Come on in,” Mackenzie says warmly. She stands and moves forward to shake the woman’s hand. “Kelli, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she responds with a bright smile. “A bit of an honour really. I’ve been following your career with admiration.”

“Well, that’s a good way to start a job interview,” Mackenzie jokes. Kelli laughs politely and Jim laughs nervously. Mackenzie watches him with amusement, looking down at his toes, like he’s introducing his girlfriend to his mother, which is way wrong, because he _has_ a girlfriend, and Mackenzie is _not_ his mother, but either way, he probably wants Kelli to make a good impression with Mackenzie because he wants her on his team.

Just as it’s starting to settle into weird, and Mackenzie’s about to tell Jim to sod off so she can talk to Kelli alone, he gestures to the door. “Well, I should get to work.”

“You should,” Mackenzie notes lightly.

“Yeah,” he heads out. Mackenzie follows him to close her office door, catching Millie’s eye; she doesn’t have to mention she’s busy and to hold calls.

“Take a seat,” Mackenzie says to Kelli and gestures to the conference table. She goes to her desk and picks up the woman’s resume, then takes a seat opposite her. She’s in her early-thirties, which actually makes her older than Jim, and she’s wearing a form-fitting dress that shows off a toned, almost athletic figure. “So,” Mackenzie starts. “Why do you want to work at News Night?”

Kelli smiles, as if she were anticipating the question. “I want to work with the media elite. And honestly? I promised myself if the opportunity ever came up to work with you, I would take it. Not that I’m going to be working directly with you, but,” she smiles. “Close enough.”

Mackenzie blinks, because she wasn’t expecting that.

“Over at CNN we started paying attention to you during the Senator Gifford shooting. I think you were the only cable news outlet _not_ reporting her death, which was the right thing to do. We were in the control room wondering what you knew and why you weren’t going and I remember thinking my gut was telling me it was wrong to air with the sources, or lack thereof, we had, and wishing we had the strength to stand until we _knew._ We had to retract that day, which is pretty much a nightmare for any news agency.”

Mackenzie forces away a rueful smile. “And Genoa doesn’t put you off? Not exactly something to be associated with.”

“I can’t say I know for sure what happened with Genoa,” Kelli says carefully. “From the outside, it looks bad, but from what Jim’s told me it sounds like cooked tape, which is the action of one man alone. And that’s hard to find, unless you’re looking for it. He said that you did,” she offers it like fuel for her apparent professional crush. “Genoa is something to come back from, and I’d love to be part of that rebuild.”

Mackenzie’s not sure they’re still rebuilding from Genoa, but given the Bree Dorrit bullshit, Charlie’s death, Pruit’s takeover and her promotion, she figures this _is_ a new era of _News Night_ , one that could very well benefit from someone fresh, like Kelli. She asks her about some of the stories she’s produced and contacts she’s made. They talk easily and Mackenzie finds herself entirely comfortable with the other woman. She’s also articulate and smart, ambitious enough, without being cutthroat, and Mackenzie can envision the younger woman in the newsroom. Fitting in could be interesting, given that there are people downstairs capable of taking on the Senior Producer role. She wonders why Jim wants to recruit from the outside, instead of promoting in-house. And then she supposes it’s not something she should worry about too much, given it’s now his ship to sail, and he can staff it how he sees fit. She probably shouldn’t even be interviewing with Kelli either, but she can’t quite help it. She trusts Jim, she does, but he’s still that little rookie following her across the Atlantic to a warzone.

“How does your family feel about moving from Atlanta?” Mackenzie asks next.

Kelli nods a little. “I’ve talked about it with my wife, tentatively, and she’s supportive. She’s been doing the stay at home mom thing for the last three years, but now our girls are just about in pre-K, so, I mean, it’s always hard to uproot and move to a new city, but now would be a good time to do it, before Rachel goes back to work, and the girls start school.”

“How old are your girls?”

“They’re nearly four.”

“Both of them?” Mackenzie asks, surprised.

“Yeah, we had twins,” Kelli smiles brightly. “We got lucky.”

Mackenzie wants to say ‘I’m pregnant too!’, but not yet.

Not yet.

Will doesn’t really knock on Mackenzie’s closed office door, he merely opens it and comes in, but he does stay near the doorway. “Are you busy?”

“Yes,” Mackenzie says, but she waves him in. “Come and meet Kelli Poul.”

Will walks over to the table where they’re sitting and Kelli stands to shake his hand. She gushes over him a little too and Will is polite, but clearly shooting Mackenzie his ‘who the hell is this?’ face. “Kelli is interviewing for the Senior Producer position with News Night,” Mackenzie explains.

“Why isn’t Kendra being promoted?” Will asks bluntly.

Mackenzie tightens her lips. “Jim has asked Kelli to come down from Atlanta.”

“Who are you with?” Will asks her.

“CNN,” Kelli replies, seemingly entirely unperturbed, which is a very good sign, seeing as she’s going to have to deal with Will if she gets this job.

“Let me take you down to the newsroom, so you can see our set up,” Mackenzie suggests. “Is it urgent?” She asks her husband, getting back to why he’s barged in on her interview.

“Yeah, you seen this?” He waves his phone at her and she takes it as they all walk to the door. She has to hold it a mile from her face to make out the tiny font on the screen (her glasses are on her desk). She thinks it’s Rush Limbaugh’s mention of her that morning. She leads the way to the elevators, pushes the button, stands back, and gives Will his blackberry back. “I saw it,” she says loftily.

The elevator doors ping open and they stand aside to let Brad (the numbers guy) off. Will shakes his hand and they have a quick word, while Mackenzie and Kelli walk into the car. Mackenzie jabs the button to go down to the newsroom, forcing Will to hurry up.

“Where are you from originally?” Mackenzie makes small talk as they travel down.

“DC, actually,” Kelli answers. “I grew up there and moved to Atlanta about six years ago.”

Mackenzie nods; she vaguely remembers Jim telling her something like that. The car slows to a stop and the doors ping open. They step out, Will hanging back to let the women go first. The bullpen is familiarly busy and Mackenzie feels a pang for two weeks ago when this was her domain. Her familiar, busy domain, where she had an entirely stable footing, and was completely confident and competent doing her job.

Jim is talking to Tess at her desk so Mackenzie approaches with her little entourage and he straightens up, looking from Mackenzie to Kelli. “Want to show Kelli around?” Mackenzie asks, feeling like a school-marm, palming off the new kid on one of her model students.

“Sure,” Jim agrees happily. “This is Tess,” he introduces. The two women shake hands and say hello.

“We’ll talk later,” Mackenzie says to Jim. He nods to acknowledge her, while introducing Kelli to Gary, who has come over to see what’s going on.

Mackenzie turns to her husband. “What are we going to do about this?” Will asks her first, raising his phone as a prop.

“Nothing?” Mackenzie frowns at him, walking towards his office. Will follows dutifully behind her, like she knew he would. She pushes into his office even as he tries to get the door for her. “We both know Limbaugh is ridiculous. It’s not worth worrying about.”

“He implied you spread your legs for Pruit,” Will says distastefully; he might be quoting.

Mackenzie gives an unimpressed frown. “Every woman in a position of power has had it, at _some point_ , implied she _spread_ her legs for someone to get _somewhere_.”

Will gives her an almost disgusted expression.

“Sorry to tell you,” she places her hands on his upper arms, a slight nod: yeah, it’s true. “Now,” Mackenzie drops her arms and turns away from him, taking a step away and then turning back. She brings her hands together and points her index fingers at him. “I wanted to talk to you about going to DC.”

Will sits on the edge of his desk, and reaches for his lighter.

“I’ve thought about it, and I think I shouldn’t go this week,” she walks closer to him as he gears up to protest. “I just think the timing is awful and –”

“I’m fine Mackenzie,” Will tells her gently. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” she tells him haughtily. “But I still think –”

“You shouldn’t think,” Will says. Mackenzie blinks at him. He shakes his head a little and reaches out for her. It takes absolutely no convincing to get her to come closer. She stands inside the frame of his stretched out legs. “I’m fine. It’s just one day. Nothing’s going to happen in that time, you’ll be back that night to tuck me in, and we can talk on the weekend.”

“Yeah but –”

“I went to see Habib today.”

Mackenzie blinks at him again. “Everything ok? It’s Monday.”

“Yeah. Just wanted to talk while I feel like I’m making progress,” he tells her sagely.

“Well that’s great,” she enthuses softly; hopeful. “Are you going again on Wednesday?”

“Yeah. See? I’m doing what I need to do.”

“Are you taking the anti-depressants?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“Yes,” Will tells her gently, placing a hand on her hip. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m always going to worry,” Mackenzie says. “Because I love you. But good, I’m glad you went to see Habib if you needed to.”

Will looks up at her and gives a slight nod. “Really though? Why isn’t Kendra being promoted? She’s senior isn’t she?”

Mackenzie steps back, “It’s really up to Jim. He wants Kelli,” she shrugs. “That’s his decision to make.”

“Kendra’s going to be pissed,” Will fidgets with his lighter.

“That’s also something Jim will have to deal with.”

“Aren’t you curious as to why?”

“Why Jim has to deal wi –”

“Why Kendra’s not being promoted,” Will raises his voice slightly to cut her off.

Mackenzie shrugs her shoulders. “Sure, curious, but also, I don’t have to worry about it,” she enthuses. “I do, however, have to go back upstairs.” She produces her blackberry from her bra. It doesn’t fit in her pocket. And she has more room in her bra these days, now that she’s in maternity ones.

“Jeeze, where were you keeping that?” Will asks pushing to his feet again.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Mackenzie muses, checking the notification that buzzed her boob. She looks over at him again, nudging the mouse on his computer to read something, still holding on to the lighter. She shakes her hair from her eyes. “What are you doing after the show tonight?”

“Going home with you?”

“Want to take a look at something first?”

“Is it medical?” Will asks suspiciously.

“Ha!” Mackenzie says sardonically. “The thing Neal and I have been working on for Pruit? Want to take a look?”

“Yes,” Will says seriously, but tries not to be too eager.

Mackenzie nods. “You and Jim.”

“Alright,” Will agrees.

Mackenzie nods again. See? It doesn’t hurt to share. “See you later then,” she goes for the door.

“Hey!” Will stops her. She stands with a hand on the door but looks back at him. “Lunch?”

Mackenzie looks at her watch. “Yeah sure.” She goes to leave again but stops once more. “I don’t feel sick today.”

Will raises his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t think I’ve felt sick all morning.”

“That’s great,” Will says.

“Yeah,” Mackenzie grins. “Thank fuck.”

She leaves.

 


	28. Chapter 28

Jim taps on Mackenzie’s open office door, the glass making a ringing sound and Mackenzie looks over from her computer screen. She tugs off her glasses as he comes in. “Now a good time?” He asks politely.

“Of course,” Mackenzie agrees.

“What did you think?”

“Why not promote someone from within?” She shoots back.

Jim stands opposite her desk, hands on hips; defensive.

“Kendra would make a fantastic senior producer. God knows she’s earned it.”

“Yeah, I know, I did consider that,” Jim nods and then looks to her door and then back at her. “Everyone down there is really great at their jobs and they’ve all been with us for several years now.”

“But?” Mackenzie prompts dutifully.

Jim takes a breath, “But, they’re all your hires. They’re people you brought with you or they’re people you hired once you were here. They’re your team.”

Mackenzie narrows her eyes at him slightly, listening, but wondering what his point is.

“I just thought, now that it’s my show, maybe I could bring in someone.”

“Who’s loyal to you?”

“No, not that.” He takes a seat. “It’s just – fresh blood.”

Mackenzie gives him a confused expression.

“Keep it fresh. New person, new style, new stories, new sources. I think it could be good to bring in someone –”

“Who hasn’t stagnated?” She pushes, because she can, not because she doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say to her.

“Not stagnated. A fresh pair of eyes.”

Mackenzie nods a little. “All right. I get that.”

Jim gives a cautious nod in return. “She’s interested.”

“And Kendra?”

“Kendra’s awesome, and great at her job, and I like her too, but I think – feel, this is the right thing to do. My gut is telling me it’s right.”

“Can’t ignore the gut,” Mackenzie muses.

“You taught me that,” Jim points out.

Mackenzie narrows her eyes slightly at him again. “Offer five percent more than she’s getting now. It’s not a lot of incentive but that’s about it. If she wants it, she’ll take the opportunity. And we can talk later about increasing it.”

Jim nods, happy, and gets to his feet.

She can’t really blame him for wanting to put his own stamp on _News Night._

“What are you doing after the show tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t think we should date,” Jim starts.

“Wow are you sassy today,” Mackenzie leans back in her chair, folding her arms over her stomach. Jim looks bashful. “The thing I’ve had Neal working on? Want to take a look at it?”

“Sure,” Jim says easily.

“All right,” Mackenzie unfolds her arms. “Go do the news.”

 

**********

 

Mackenzie strides into the newsroom bullpen just as Will is finishing up broadcast. It’s subdued down there, as it always is when someone is on air and using the bullpen as a backdrop, but she gets warm hellos from those not on the phone (from them, she gets a wave). She catches Neal’s eye at his station under the ACN Digital banner (front and centre, so the cameras can pick it up over Will’s shoulder) and gestures with her head that he should follow her to Will’s office. Mackenzie rounds Will’s desk and takes a seat in his chair. Huh, the room looks different from this vantage point. Neal pushes into the room a second behind her.

“Is the website up?” Mackenzie asks as he stands listlessly in front of her, and even though she didn’t sit there to purposefully seem intimidating, it’s worked out nicely.

“Yes,” Neal says brightly. “It’s up, we’re monitoring the comments and twitter as we speak and I’ve got Jeremy coming in later to moderate the page overnight. Just for the first week maybe, so we can see what the traffic’s like.”

Mackenzie nods and stares at the younger man; she didn’t quite understand all of that. But it sounded good. “Neal, you’ve really outdone yourself the last two weeks.”

Neal beams. “Thanks.”

“I know you wanted to be a producer, but how would you feel if I put you in charge of our entire web operations?”

Neal’s face flicks to shock, eyes bulging, mouth falling open slightly.

“For now it’s going to be the team you’ve got, and it’s going to be News Night’s and Right Now’s pages _only_ , so basically what you’re doing _now_ , but I want to put you in charge of all of it, and eventually we’ll expand it out to all our online news and other presences.”

Neal blinks at her. “Are you serious?”

Mackenzie frowns. “Presence. Presences?”

Neal blusters for a second, not sure if he should respond to her struggle for the correct word, while still being excited about what she’s offering.

“Yes. I’m serious,” Mackenzie adds as Will comes in.

“What are you serious about?” He asks. “And what are you doing at my desk?”

“Looking for hidden porn,” Mackenzie quips as Will comes around the furniture, loosening his tie. “I’m talking to Neal about building our online presences.”

Will gives her a confused frown and goes to his bathroom. “I keep the porn on a flash drive in the drawer.” He disappears to change, but pokes his head back around the door frame. “And it’s just presence. The plural of presence is presence.”

“Thanks sweetie,” Mackenzie smiles warmly at him. He disappears again, pushing the door closed. “What do you say Neal? Now, I’m _not_ saying you can’t produce your own stories with your team eventually, _but_ we’ll have to work up to that.”

“I can produce my own stories?” Neal asks excitedly.

“You’ll still have to run them by Jim, but yes, the potential is there. I want the website to be a branching out of our televised content. Some of it extensions or follow-ups, but also vice versa.”

Neal finally takes a seat opposite Will’s desk. “I’ve already got some great ideas.”

Jim comes in.

“You can save them for me later in the week,” Mackenzie suggests. “Let’s start small.”

“What are we starting on?” Jim asks.

“The website. I’ll tell you later,” Mackenzie waves him off. “Let’s get through this, so I can go home and sleep,” she holds up the flash drive Neal gave to her a week ago and jams it into Will’s computer’s slot. She brings up the folder and opens the file while Jim takes a seat at the table opposite Will’s desk and Neal moves to perch against the window sill. Will comes out of his bathroom, his suit crumpled in his hands. Mackenzie vacates his chair and he almost rushes to take it back (silly man).  

“Now, as you know, Pruit _thinks_ he _knows_ how a cable news network should be run,” Mackenzie starts, moving around Will’s office to turn the lights off.

“I can’t see,” Will complains.

Mackenzie expected to hear him light up, but as she turns she can see him (clearly, by the way, because the bullpen lights are still at full capacity) merely slumped in his chair so he can rest his chin on his hand. “Even though he has _no_ experience with the _news_ other than what he’s been _fed_ on television, probably by _every_ other cable news network, beside this one.”

“When’s the movie starting?” Will asks.

“Before Charlie died,” Mackenzie goes on carefully. She tries not to look at Will. Neal and Jim are steadfastly watching her too. “He… _conceded_ –”

“Caved,” Will supplies unhelpfully.

“To include a few of Pruit’s _requests_ ,” Mackenzie ignores him.

“Demands,” Will corrects.

“In regards to social media and _citizen_ journalism.”

“The mob gone wild.”

“Shut it you,” Mackenzie glares at him and he spreads a hand, pretending he hasn’t done anything and has no idea why he’s being singled out. “For now, Pruit and _I_ have an understanding –”

“Mexican stand-off,” Will supplies.

“And he’s letting us find our _feet_ again but I know it’s only a matter of _time_ before he’s going to want that _twitter_ scroll back on News Night’s air and I don’t want it. And neither do you,” she tells him, before Will can add something annoying. “So what I want to _do_ with this,” she gestures to the TVs that are about to play the package Neal has put together. “Is show him in a _clear_ , and visually stimulating montage, of what bad journalism _looks_ like, and what good journalism _looks_ like, and why it’s important to get it _right_.”

“Is this advertising us?” Will asks.

“Yes it is,” Mackenzie turns to him. “In a way.” She walks over to Will’s desk and pulls out one of the chairs so she can sit. “I just… want him to _get it_ ,” she adds softly. “So, any input you have, will be welcome. But this is between the four of us for now.” She glances over at Jim who gives a genial nod, then at Will, who is watching her intensely. She watches him back but he doesn’t say anything and the pithy comments seemed to have died. She raises her eyebrows at him and he reaches over, hitting the space bar on his computer keyboard to start the video playing.

It’s not _every_ example of journalistic faux pas committed in the last two years by every new agency in America, just the major stories, particularly including how social journalism forced the hand of the Boston Police during the marathon bombing, and of course, quite a bit from Fox, who seem to deem commenting on whether pepper spray hurts or not more important than what the people suffering its effects were getting sprayed _for_. There are quite a few embarrassing retractions from anchors who have gotten stories or details wrong, because, by their own admission, they failed to investigate properly. Mackenzie’s seen the package a few times now, and she thinks it’s good. It’s not pushing an agenda, but it’s certainly spelling out the dangers she feels are very real right now with online misinformation. She thinks Neal’s done a good job of it.

She looks over at Will. He’s fidgeting with a pen, even though his lighter is just a hand width away from his fingers. He honestly seems a million miles away, which flares frustration within her, given how he just about had a fit for being left out of this project, then hammered at her with analogies of sharing the load among many ships, or something, and now, he’s staring blankly at a spot on the carpet. Or her thigh (which she might forgive). Jim, on the other hand, her dutiful little puppy, is practically taking notes. He’s watching the five minute package avidly. Neal is leaning against the window ledge, eating a fingernail, Mackenzie thinks; she’s not going to turn her head and have a look.

When it ends, she gets up and puts the lights back on and the boys blink a bit at the brightness. No one says anything. She stands behind her chair and leans on it a little. Will still seems lost but Jim is looking at her expectantly and Neal is looking between Jim and Will, also expectant. “Thoughts?” Mackenzie invites.

Jim purses his lips while he thinks.

“It’s not supposed to be a propa _ganda_ piece,” Mackenzie jumps in. “I just want to present the evidence.”

“And hope he comes to the same conclusion we would, watching that?” Jim asks.

“Yes,” Mackenzie says honestly. “Do you think it will work?”

Jim purses his lips again. “I – don’t really know him.”

Mackenzie takes a breath. “Ok, but do you think that the information there is at least fair?”

“Yeah it’s fair,” Jim nods. He turns to Neal. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” Neal beams again.

“Anything you’d add?” Mackenzie asks, ignoring Will, because he’s either zoned out completely (which annoys her), or he’s going to quietly tell her in private that he hated it and thinks this whole thing is a horrible idea. And she’s not sure she wants to hear that yet.

“I’ll think about it?” Jim answers.

Mackenzie nods. “Thanks. Go home guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jim and Neal walk out and Mackenzie thanks Neal again, squeezing his arm as he goes by. Will ejects the flash drive and hands it over to her, still saying nothing. Mackenzie slips it into her bra (with her phone) and then folds her arms over her chest (which pushes her boobs up, and that seems to get Will’s attention). “Why so silent now, quippy?”

Will meets her eyes. “How do you think Pruit’s going to take it?”

“Do you think it’s too much?”

“I wouldn’t want you to make it harder for yourself up there.”

“All right,” Mackenzie says, looking down at her shoes, disappointed. Will gets up from the desk and comes around it to put his hands on her upper arms, turning her towards him. “I think it’s admirable,” he says softly. Mackenzie narrows her eyes at him. “That you’re going to try.”

Oh, how she tries. She doesn’t give up trying really. All those emails. All those voicemails. All those years of putting up with him.

“You think it’s futile?”

“I don’t know. But I love that you’re going to try.”

Mackenzie’s not sure that’s the positive response she was looking for. And it makes her feel foolish for letting him in on it. She hoped, of course, that he would tell her she’s doing the right thing, this will absolutely change Pruit’s mind, and she’s a hero for doing it. But perhaps he’s right; she should prepare for failure.

“Let’s go home,” Will says next. “You look tired.” He leans over the desk to put his phone in his pocket.

“I am tired,” Mackenzie sighs, checking out his ass. “And feeling wary.”

“ _When tears are in, your eyes, I will comfort you_ ,” Will sings. Mackenzie gives a half smile, not realising she was quoting a Simon and Garfunkel song (plus, when was the last time she heard Will sing? Months? Perhaps she has bigger problems than Pruit. And maybe she should be working on her husband first, before work.) “ _I’m on your side_ ,” Will goes on, taking her hand and pulling her out of his office. “ _When times get rough_.” He guides her to the elevators and they go up to retrieve Mackenzie’s bag, then down to go home again, both of them humming the tune.

 


	29. Chapter 29

“Holy mother I’m tired,” Mackenzie complains as they get through their door. She kicks off her shoes and dumps her bag and walks off to the living room. Will hangs his keys on the hook, picks up her bag and puts it on the table and swishes her shoes to the side with his foot so no one trips over them, now or later. Then he follows her. He finds her face down on the couch, unmoving.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Uh uh,” Mackenzie says, shaking her head.

“Bed then?” Will asks warily.

Mackenzie nods, or, at least he thinks she does. Her head shifts about on the cushion but it’s hard to interpret when all he can see is the back of her head. He waits for her to get up but she doesn’t move. He moves to sit on the coffee table, right by her head. “I liked the package Neal put together,” he tries.

Mackenzie’s head turns, so her cheek is flat against the leather and her face is toward him; her eyes are so dark. “Really?”

“Yeah. It was good,” Will says. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Mackenzie almost whines.

“Teeth and bed?”

“I booked the flights to DC.”

“Good,” Will says.

“Wednesday.”

“Ok.”

“Thought it would be better to get out it of the way.”

He nods. “Sure.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Teeth and bed?” Will asks again.

“Teeth and bed,” Mackenzie agrees. She moves to get up this time, leaning on Will’s shoulder to get her balance. He reaches up and takes her hand and she grips tightly onto his fingers, so that when she walks away, she tugs him along after her. He’s willing to go.

Mackenzie gets to the bedroom and stops in the middle. She rubs her fingers into her eyes with both hands. “Is it really only Monday?”

“Yeah,” Will says, standing behind her.

“Feels like the longest day.”

Will has no answer for that.

“When does this get easier?”

He doesn’t know that either. Just gives her a wan expression when she looks over her shoulder at him. He sits on the bed while his wife goes to the bathroom and washes her face. She starts on her teeth when he realises he’s just sitting there, staring at the wall; waiting on her? He feels wary himself. It _has_ been a long day. (Maybe going to see Habib has thrown him off.)

Mackenzie comes to stand in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the frame. “You’re awfully quiet,” she notes, holding her toothbrush in front of her lips, a little dot of toothpaste foam in the corner of her mouth.

Will looks up at her. “I’m always quiet.”

She laughs a little. “No you’re not. Not always.”

Will shrugs.

“Everything ok?” She asks and he’s reminded about how annoying it is, to be asked all the time. Like he was doing to her the week before (to be fair, he has stopped with the obsessive texting. Helps that she’s apparently not feeling so sick anymore). But he also understands how equally frustrating it is to not know, and to worry.

“Just thinking about Charlie,” he lies, but it’s a satisfactory explanation, because Mackenzie’s expression softens.

“Oh honey, I know. I think about him too.”

She does? He didn’t know that.

“Of course, it helps that I’m in his office, so I can’t _help_ but be reminded he’s gone, but for you – I can’t imagine.”

That sounds plausible.

“Yeah,” Will sighs. He gets up from the bed and starts changing into his pyjamas. Mackenzie goes back to brushing her teeth and when she’s finished, he swaps places with her. When he’s done in the bathroom he flicks on the nightlight and then pulls the door almost closed. Mackenzie is in bed, her light out, his on.

“Are you coming to bed?” She asks. She’s facing the bathroom but her eyes are closed.

“Yeah,” Will says as he comes around the bed.

Mackenzie gives a pleased hum and as he pulls back the covers she turns over to face him. He gets in and she cuddles up close. He likes the warmth of her against him and he feels suddenly like he could confess: _I’m quiet because I got a call today that I’m having an aortic cathetisation test on Wednesday. When you’re away. And it’s on my mind because there’s something wrong with my heart, and I’m scared shitless that it’s serious. Charlie just dropped dead from a heart attack, and we’re having a baby._

But he doesn’t.

What would she even say to that? She’d worry about him and he doesn’t want her to, when she already has a lot going on in her life without having to spread herself even thinner thinking about him. He’ll be fine. He’ll get through it, and when he gets the results he’ll know whether it’s something he needs to tell her about.

Mackenzie sighs against him, and he can feel the warmth of her breath against his neck. It makes him suddenly feel hot. He wishes he felt better now, instead of the six-eight weeks it’s going to take the antidepressant medication to kick in (he just started them today). There are other things he can do to feel better now (exercise, sex, sunshine, good sleep cycle and eating properly) but they seem so hard. He just feels like he has no energy and he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like a good night’s sleep is going to fix all his problems. It’s not Charlie. It’s not his health. It’s not Mackenzie. It’s not the baby. It’s not work. It’s none of those things and yet, it’s also all of those things, together all at once, and separately.

It just is.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie wakes early, before her alarm, because she’s getting used to it, and because she’s going to bed so early. She hasn’t had to get up to use the bathroom in the night, but she goes now. The nightlight is on for her and when she comes back to bed she finds the container of crackers there for her too. She has a few, just in case, her stomach not entirely confident, but definitely not in betrayal. Will is breathing loudly next to her, on his side, his back to her, just an arm’s length away, but feeling much further. He’s keeping things from her. She knows when he’s lying. And that hurts her just as much as it worries her. He took an extra session with Habib yesterday, so things can’t be good for him (and he doesn’t seem better for having gone). She just wishes she could make it better.

She reaches for her phone on her side table and stops her alarm before it can go off and wake him up. Then she checks the overnight news alerts, of which nothing is particularly urgent or interesting (and it’s not her job to worry about too much anymore either). Then she starts googling depression again. She desperately googles ways she can help him. There has _got_ to be something out there that she can do.

One of the first things she finds is that men are four times more likely to commit suicide than women and it makes her heart thud in her chest.

(But he _promised_ her.)

And then she reads that fifty percent of women caring for a depressed husband will develop depression themselves.

(But she’s fine, isn’t she?)

And then she finds an article that says a husband’s depression also affects his family and she thinks ‘see?’ She also finds some things she can do, the first of which is to get her husband into treatment, so she can check that off, because he already is (therapy _and_ medication). There’s actually _a lot_ about men being in denial and refusing to get help, so Mackenzie thinks she’s lucky in that Will’s not negating that he has a problem, even if he seems uneasy with it (she can tell). He’s not convinced, but he’s seeing a therapist and he’s taking the anti-depressants, so, there is that. She finds mention about anti-depressants reducing libido, and wow she is getting so much information this morning!

Thank God.

Finally, she hits on some things that _she_ can do now. _Show she cares._ Doesn’t she already do that though? He knows she cares. _Listen and sympathise with his pain._ She can do that. She already listens, but she can sympathise with him. She doesn’t really understand it, on a personal level, but she can see he’s not himself. And that’s very real. So she has no intention of telling him that he needs to get over it. Or that whatever it is that’s bothering him isn’t important. To him, it’s important (she learnt that one a while ago. It might seem insignificant to her, but it’s not to him). _Talk about depression’s impact on you and your children._ Well, it’s going to impact their child if it’s not under control by January, but, Mackenzie thinks, she could do that, talk about how she feels about him being depressed. Delicate though, because she doesn’t want to guilt him. She just wants him to know that she worries about him. A lot. Because she cares _so_ much. Because she loves him _so much_.

Tears prickle at her eyes.

He does know that she cares, right?

He _has_ to know that.

What not to do: dismiss his feelings, force him to socialise (oh), or agree with his negative views. Got it. She can do that. She sets it as a notification and leaves it sitting in her notification bar, to remind her all day (or all week), until it becomes a habit. And then she gets out of bed, cos shit, she’s going to be late for work.

 

**********

 

Will wakes because he thinks he hears his phone, and when he drags his eyes open and checks it, there’s a text. From Mackenzie.

 

**Morning babe.**

**Hope you had a good sleep.**

**Love you.**

 

He reads it twice. But that’s it. Nothing else materialises and he feels confused.

 

**Did you want something?**

She texts back almost immediately, which tells him she was waiting to hear back from him. Which is nice, but is she not busy?

**No, silly Billy, just telling you I love you.**

Will blinks at the screen. Well. This is new. But he can’t say he objects to it too much. Before he can reply though, he also gets:

 

**Do I need a reason to tell you I love you?**

 

No, she does not.

**Always happy to hear that. I love you too.**

**What do you want for lunch today?**

She doesn’t text back immediately, so Will gets out of bed and uses the bathroom. When he comes back he catches the end of the chime that lets him know he has a new notification, and he walks quickly around the bed to get to his blackberry.

 

**I actually have plans with Sloan today,**

**but we can do dinner instead? Sixish?**

**Always happy to hear that. I love you too.**

**What do you want for lunch today?**

She doesn’t text back immediately, so Will gets out of bed and uses the bathroom. When he comes back he catches the end of the chime that lets him know he has a new notification, and he walks quickly around the bed to get to his blackberry.

 

**I actually have plans with Sloan today,**

**but we can do dinner instead? Sixish?**

It doesn’t bother him. He’s not disappointed. But it _does_ bother him and he _is_ disappointed. He sees her so infrequently as it is, without missing lunch. And he feels a little jealous, that she’s going to split her already sparse time with him with someone else.

 

**Sure, dinner.**

He sends it, just that, and then thinks he might be being petulant, and that’s unattractive in a grown ass man who is also _not his father_. She can spend time with other people. He’s not her… he’s _not. His. Father._

 

**I’ll text you later, see what you feel like.**

There’s another long pause with no reply, so Will takes his phone to the kitchen to make himself coffee. He opens the fridge to see what he feels like to eat, but it’s not entirely appealing in there (there’s food, he’s just not inspired). He turns and finds the remnants of Mackenzie’s breakfast on the bench, that cut off corner of toast crust (where the toaster always burns) she refuses to eat on the chopping board, along with a ton of crumbs and a dirty knife. He tidies up while waiting for his coffee. And his phone chimes again.

 

**I look forward to it. I love that we**

**have dinner together each night.**

**It feels important to touch base like**

**that. I hope we keep it up forever.**

Will blinks at that.

 

**Especially when I’m practically**

**asleep as soon as we get home**

**these days. Sorry about that.**

He texts her immediately. His overly large heart beating heavily in his chest.

 

**Honey, you’re pregnant. Of course you’re**

**tired. That’s not something to be sorry**

**about. I love that we have dinner together**

**too. We always will. Promise.**

 

He hesitates, and then because while he’s also trying not to be his father, he’s attempting to be more communicative with his wife, so he adds:

**It means a lot to me.**

And hopes that doesn’t sound too needy and weak.

 

**Me too!!! xx**

He doesn’t know it, but Mackenzie’s sitting at her desk feeling relieved to hear him say (text) it, and a little teary (hormones). He doesn’t know she’s spent the morning researching depression and worrying about him, and that he’s done them both a massive service in opening up, even if it’s just that little bit.

 


	30. Chapter 30

“I’m here! I’m here!” Mackenzie calls a few feet away from Sloan, who’s sitting at the bar of the juice bar in AWM’s gym (which they’re still allowed to use, even though ACN is now owned by Lucas Pruit – thank you to the Lansing’s for being so gracious. And thank you to Pruit for taking over paying for the perks). She hurries over and slides onto the stool next to her friend, who turns to her slightly, even though she’s leaning over to suck at a straw jammed into the top of a clear plastic vessel containing a bright red liquid. “Sorry I’m late,” Mackenzie apologises. “Wow what is that?”

“Strawberry Sunshine,” Sloan says. “And it’s soooo gooood!”

The bartender approaches. Mackenzie order’s one for herself. She puts her blackberry down on the bar and lights up the screen, checking she hasn’t missed anything. She hasn’t. “So,” she looks at the other woman. “How’s things?”

“Good,” Sloan says. She sips some more. “How are things with you?”

“Good,” Mackenzie says, and she means it. “Busy and exhausting, but good.”

“How does it feel being one of the most powerful women in the building?”  
“I’ll let you know when I get to wield that power.”

“So long as you use that power for good,” Sloan says seriously. Mackenzie laughs. “I miss seeing you around.”

“Me too,” Mackenzie agrees. “All of you. How are things in the newsroom?”

“Are you looking for a confidential informant? Because I’ll do it. You won’t even have to pay me much.”

Mackenzie laughs again. “I can’t afford to pay you at all. Did you hear Jim’s hired a new senior producer?”

“I heard rumours,” Sloan says lightly. “That woman who was in the newsroom yesterday?”

The blender goes on, on the other side of the bar, and they wait for it to finish before speaking again.

“Kelli Poul,” Mackenzie supplies.

“I did too,” Mackenzie says. She smiles as the bartender brings her juice over. “Thank you.” She gives him her gym membership card and he swipes it to charge the drink to her account.

“What’s she like?”

“She’s nice,” Mackenzie says. “I’m sure you’d get along.” She sips her drink, which is sweet but bright and refreshing in her mouth. Sloan was right, it’s _sooo gooood._

“Oh I wasn’t worried about that,” Sloan says dismissively, while Mackenzie knows she is; she doesn’t find it easy getting along with other women. She hasn’t exactly made friends with Kendra or any of the other women in the newsroom. It might be that Sloan, technically, doesn’t work for _News Night_. “What’s it like working with Pruit?”

“I can handle Pruit,” Mackenzie says indifferently. But she hasn’t really been tested yet. “How’s the economy doing?”

Sloan turns to her and takes a very deep breath and opens her mouth to speak, but stops. She pauses. “Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”

“Very short,” Mackenzie says, sipping at her drink some more. She’s tempted to scull it back, but that would be a waste of savouring.

“Could be better,” Sloan muses. “I think that’s the easiest way to put it.”

“How’s things with _Don_?” Mackenzie changes the subject, because, honestly? A jargon-heavy conversation about numbers is about the last thing she wants right now, when she has to deal with that crap upstairs. This is supposed to be light, girlfriend type talk.

“Good,” Sloan nods, almost contemplative. “I think we’re almost getting serious.”

“You weren’t serious before?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well then how do you know you’re getting more serious?”

Sloan considers that a moment. “I’m not sure. It just feels different. How do you know it’s getting serious?”

“You start talking about having a future together?”

“Hm, I’m not sure we’ve done that.”

“You were engaged before right?” Mackenzie suddenly remembers. Sloan nods, while she sucks on her straw. “So, shouldn’t you know?”

“And he cheated on me the night before our wedding, so what would I know?”

“That you have poor choice in men.”

“Until Don,” Mackenzie adds. “Who is a great guy!”

“Hm,” Sloan considers that.

“With the right woman.”

Sloan narrows her eyes at her friend. “You’re talking about Maggie?”

“No,” Mackenzie tries. “I meant you.”

“No, I meant that you meant that he wasn’t a great guy when he was with Maggie, because she wasn’t right for him.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Mackenzie confirms. She puts her hand on Sloan’s arm and gives it a quick squeeze. “You and Don are great together. It’s great that you’re getting serious. Isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Sloan says, but she does sound unsure.

“Don _really_ likes you,” Mackenzie adds, trying to be optimistic. She suspects she’s done a little damage here. Sloan doesn’t answer her, but looks thoughtfully into the gym, where a spin class is taking place and people are wheezing over their stationary bicycles.

Mackenzie studies her a moment. “You’re finance really threw you for one huh?”

“It’s hard to trust anyone after being cheated on,” Sloan notes. Her eyes widen suddenly, turning back to Mackenzie. “Sorry!” She starts to apologise. “I didn’t mean to –”

Mackenzie waves her off. “It’s fine. Will and I are fine. And we agree: I didn’t cheat on him.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I was seeing Brian while Will and I were first _dating_ – never mind. We’re fine.”

“You are?” Sloan asks, either relieved they’re moving on from the conversation, or genuinely relieved to hear that Mackenzie and Will are fine.

“Yeah, we are,” Mackenzie smiles, sincerely, even though there’s a niggle of doubt in the back of her mind. Not so much that she thinks she and Will are in trouble, it’s just that things are tough right now. And she can _not_ talk to Sloan about it. Not after the last time she ran her mouth off, divulging private information. And Will is really private about these things.

“How’s he doing with Charlie’s death?” Sloan leans in, conspiratorial.

“Well,” Mackenzie thinks quickly. “It’s tough for him, because they were close,” she answers tactfully.

Sloan nods knowingly and doesn’t push for anything more. She’s quiet while she’s thoughtful for a moment and they both drink their juices. “So are we you going to talk about you being pregnant or what?”

 

**********

 

Will is reminding himself of the details of the Bradley Manning trial/charges because the verdict is out today and it’s going in the C block (when they get it), when his office door pops open. He doesn’t look up, figuring it’s Jenna or another producer bringing him something to take a look at. Since Jenna’s been promoted, he finds himself without someone to yell at. He should ask Mackenzie if they’re getting another intern. That might help him feel better. Someone to yell at. Or maybe he shouldn’t be doing that at all, seeing as he’s not his father. He finally looks up from his computer and finds Mackenzie standing opposite his desk. He gets to his feet, surprised.

“Hi,” she greets him with a smile. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Uh, sure,” he says, because usually, she’d just start talking to him anyway. She starts walking around his desk, going to his bathroom. He’s confused, but he follows her. She grabs his hand and tugs him into the room, then pushes the door closed. She turns and wraps her arms around his neck, drawing his head down to kiss him. A sweet warm kiss; a sweep of her tongue. A grunt erupts out of his throat; delight and surprise. Mackenzie draws away from his mouth, but presses their foreheads together and he can hear her breathing in the quiet of his private bathroom.

“What have you been eating?” Will murmurs.

Mackenzie laughs lightly and draws back to look him in the eye. “I had a Strawberry Sunshine with Sloan.”

“What is a Strawberry Sunshine?” Will asks softly, looking deep into her eyes.

“Juice. At the juice bar upstairs.”

“Oh,” Will almost whispers. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest, but for once he’s not thinking about how it’s enlarged or how he has a faulty valve. He’s thinking about how beautiful his wife is and how good she tastes, even when she hasn’t been drinking sweet juices. “What was the kiss for?” He asks gently, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in a little closer.

“Because I can. And because we didn’t have lunch. And because I _can_ ,” she says, her eyes crinkling slightly with her own amusement. She shifts her weight and Will can feel her bones rolling under his palms. “I don’t need an excuse to kiss you Will, you’re my husband.”

He likes that.

“I do have to go back upstairs though,” she says and makes absolutely no move to leave at all. Will stays hanging on to her and she studies him like she’s so happy to see him. He likes that too. He starts to wonder what happened to her between last night and this morning, when she text. She’s… affectionate, and deliberately making time for him, even if it’s a little – oh, ok, she’s trying. She’s trying to make him feel better. And he has to admit, it’s working a little.

“Any minute now,” Mackenzie says, still standing there. She gives a sigh and reaches for her phone, tucked in her bra. She checks the screen, scrolling for a second, then puts it back in her bra. She looks up at Will and he waits, sensing she has something else she wants to say. “Will,” she starts. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he repeats.

“And I _really_ care about you. Like, a lot. If you want to talk sometime, about anything, you know I’m here for you right?”

“I know,” he soothes, shifting his hands to her upper arms. Tears start to well up in her deep brown eyes and his heart breaks for her a little. He doesn’t quite understand what’s happening right now.

“Please don’t lose hope Will. There are things to live for. Me, and the baby.”

“I know – where is this coming from?”

“I worry about you,” Mackenzie says with a concerned expression; the tears disappear.

“I’m fine,” Will says.

“You’re _not_ fine, and I’ll thank you to not keep telling me that when _it’s not true,_ ” she counters. It looks like the tears might be back. “But it’s ok. We’ll get through it together. I want you to know that.”

He pulls her against him and she buries her face in his chest. They shouldn’t be doing this now, at work. They shouldn’t be doing it at all. He shouldn’t have told her. She has enough on her plate without worrying about him too.

“Will?”

“Yeah,” he agrees to placate her. But after she gives him another quick kiss and a watery smile and tells him she’ll see him for dinner, he starts to feel bad for lying to her. Habib tells him to open up to his wife, talk to her, tell her things, but when he does she worries and he feels guilty for adding to her burden. How is he supposed to not feel like a burden when she’s got a high pressure job and a baby on the way? He was feeling optimistic about talking to her about things after the weekend, and after his session with Doctor Habib yesterday, but now, now he’s changing his mind again.

And god, it’s exhausting.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie’s phone rings as she’s in the elevator going up. It’s an unknown number, so she answers it politely and the voice on the other end surprises her.

“Hi Mackenzie, it’s Doctor Habib. You rang me earlier and left a message?”

“Yes!” Mackenzie gushes. “Thank you _so much_ for returning my call.”

“It’s a little unorthodox,” Habib muses. “I can’t discuss my sessions with Will with you.”

“I know,” Mackenzie quickly jumps in, pacing the empty elevator car. “I’m not asking you to tell me anything like that.” The elevator stops and the doors ping. She steps out quickly, weaving around bodies whose faces she doesn’t make eye contact with. She hurries on to her office. There’s been a long pause but she fills it again as she’s pushing her office door closed. “I was just wondering if you can help me with Will and the depression. Help me to get through to him. I want him to know that I’m here –” She hesitates. How much does she want to tell the doctor? She’s not trying to betray Will, she’s just trying to get some help. Just now in the bathroom he’s saying ‘yes’ and he’s nodding and agreeing but she can see it behind his eyes, he’s calculating how much to keep from her. It scares her.

“I just need to know how to help him and he’s so –” She hesitates, decides on different words. “He can be stubborn.” She adds quietly. Surely Habib knows this? About Will? She suddenly wonders how different Will is with his therapist. It’s never bothered her before, but now, she’s curious and feeling almost like she’s cut out. What if he’s completely amenable with Habib? And a stubborn jerk with her?

“The first thing I would tell you, Mackenzie, is to not give up. Keep trying. No matter how futile it seems. It takes Will a long time to process things.”

Mackenzie almost sighs in relief. Yes! That’s true! Of _course_ he does. She knew that.

“The second thing I can do is give you the names of some websites and some books that you can go through yourself. There’s a lot of information out there from spouses of depressed men, and from depressed men themselves, talking about what helped them, but Mackenzie, don’t worry too much. Will’s depression is mild and you’re already doing just fine.”

Mackenzie blinks back tears, turning her chair away from the intrusive glass walls of Charlie’s office. She really needed to hear that.

“It’s great to hear that you care about Will, but, trust him too. He’s doing what he needs to do to get better. It can be a long process,” Habib goes on and Mackenzie listens to the soothing intonation of his voice and thinks: _this man is probably really good at his job_. She undoubtedly needs to trust him a little too, seeing as he’s also taking responsibility for the care of her husband. And maybe she just need to know that.

“I understand,” Mackenzie says, and doesn’t quite manage to keep her voice steady. “I was reading some things online this morning and, I guess I got a little freaked out.” She attempts a laugh but it sounds disturbingly like the laugh/sobs she tries on Will.

“Hang in there,” Habib says kindly. “It will get better.”

 


	31. Chapter 31

“Hey boo,” Mackenzie says, coming into Will’s office. He’s unpacking dinner already, containers of rice by the look of it.

“Hi,” he stops for a second, and leans over to plant a kiss on the side of her head. “I got Thai. That ok?”

“Sure,” she says, taking a seat. “I’m hungry, so I’m going to eat anything.”

Will finishes laying out all the food for her. “How was your day?”

“Long and wary,” she states matter-of-factly and starts eating. “But it’s ok. I’m ok.” She looks over at her husband who picks at a container. She thinks about what Habib said; it’s a long process. It’s going to take time. Hang in there. Don’t give up. Take care of yourself. She reaches out and places a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze, then withdrawing. “How are you doing?” She starts on her dinner.

“Fine,” he says, looking over at her. She nods and gives him a smile but leaves it at that. She remembers him constantly asking her about how she was feeling and how annoying it was. And then she also remembers the conversation they had about allowing him to help her with some things, to ease her load while she’s pregnant. They’re both adjusting.

“I don’t mean to ask a lot,” Mackenzie adds depreciatingly.

Will looks over at her again. He gives a slight upturn of his mouth, not quite a smile, but almost. “I get it. I did that to you right?”

This time, Mackenzie gives him the slight smile. Sometimes, they are entirely as bad as each other.

“How about, if something changes, I’ll let you know?”

“Seems fair,” Mackenzie nods. They’re silent for a moment as they eat. Mackenzie swallows, “In the interest of sharing, I felt pretty good today. Morning sickness-wise.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “That’s good. Things are settling?”

“Well, the first stage is settling, I guess,” Mackenzie notes. “But then, I’m nearly already twelve weeks so, stage two begins?”

“Right,” Will nods. “Twelve weeks.”

“Hard to believe huh?” Mackenzie muses. “That reminds me, I got a message to go for the amnio in two weeks’ time.”

“Already?”

“In two weeks.”

“I thought she said after fifteen weeks?”

“She said fifteen weeks was usual and I’ll be fourteen weeks – do you not want the amnio?”

Will blinks at her. “I – Do you – I thought we were – not optional?”

“We don’t have to,” Mackenzie offers with a slight shrug and a glance out of the corner of her eye; pretending to concentrate on her food. “It _is_ entirely optional. Just recommended given my age.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Well, it gets complicated,” Mackenzie almost sighs, and looks over at him.

Jim knocks on the door and comes in. “Sorry to interrupt,” he hesitates by the door.

“You’re not interrupting,” Mackenzie says. She concentrates on her dinner while Will and Jim talk about the Manning verdict. She half listens but she’s been lucky with the news in the last few weeks, while she settles into her job. No major news breaks; nothing she needs to be involved with. Nothing to distract her.

“Enjoy your dinner,” Jim says in parting and leaves again. There’s a burst of noise as he goes out the door, but it subdues again as the glass swings shut.

“So the amnio?” Will prompts, reaching for a different container.

“Right,” Mackenzie swallows her mouthful of rice. “The thing is, the test is to detect any _anomalies_ right?” Will nods. “So that means we should talk about what happens if they _find_ some?” She watches as his face goes ashen, and he can’t quite meet her eye. He clears his throat. “Right,” he says.

“But we don’t have to do that now,” Mackenzie jumps in. “Maybe _think_ about it and – I don’t know. I don’t know _what_ I want to do just yet. It’s _definitely_ a conversation to have.”

“This would be one of the scary parts you were talking about?”

“When was I talking about that?”

“At the church? Charlie’s funeral?”

Mackenzie nods. “Right. Yes. One of the scary parts.” She reaches out to squeeze his arm briefly again (feels the tenseness of his muscles). “But it could very well be fine as well.” She smiles at him and even though he looks worried, he gives a slight upturn of his mouth. They finish eating, and Will stacks up the empty and not quite empty cardboard cartons. “Thanks for dinner,” Mackenzie says.

“You’re welcome,” Will replies.

“I’m going to go home early tonight,” she adds.

Will looks over at her, surprised.

“Early flight tomorrow morning,” she says haplessly (not missing that her staying is apparently important to him).

“What time are you leaving?”

“My flight is at six forty-five.”

“Then yeah, make sure you get some sleep,” he says gruffly.

Mackenzie hides a smile as Will gets up to put the trash in the bin. She stands. “Time to get ready?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, turning towards her. She walks towards him, arms out, making it clear she’s going to hug him. He wraps his arms around her tightly and it feels good. She rests her head against his shoulder for a moment. “Have to be careful with all of this. No fraternising at work.”

Mackenzie laughs and squeezes his ass before pulling away from him. “I can _do_ what I want when I’m the _boss_.”

“Sexual harassment,” Will mutters at her, reaching out to squeeze at her side. She quick steps away from him.

“Go and get ready,” she scolds lightly.

“You’re going now?”

“In a bit,” she turns, half way to the door. “But I guess I’ll see you – well, I will see you, _assuming_ you sleep with me tonight – on Thursday? I mean, we’ll talk on Thursday. In _person_. I’ll call you tomorrow anyway. And I’ll be back before you go to bed as well.”

Will approaches where she’s standing and puts his hands on her upper arms. “Have a good sleep and a safe flight, and feel free to text me when you can.”

Mackenzie smiles up at him.

“What time will you be back?”

“In the evening. I think I’m leaving at six.”

“I could meet you at the airport?”

“That would be nice. But only if you can. Don’t be late for broadcast.”

“We could still have dinner together,” Will suggests.

“It’s a date!” She reaches up and gives him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you then, then. I’ll see you before then too, but –”

“I know what you mean,” Will says softly. She leaves.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie goes home earlier than usual and watches News Night in bed. She falls asleep with the television on, and even though she went to sleep early, she’s still not prepared for her alarm waking her at the crack of dawn. She hurriedly shuts it off, but Will doesn’t stir from his side of the bed, his back to her as he lays on his side. It’s good to see him there (as in, at least he’s not unable to sleep at this hour, and is still up), and strange to have gone to sleep without him around. Mackenzie picks the slumber from her eyes as she gets out of bed. The nightlight is on for her and there’s probably water and crackers by her side of the bed, but she doesn’t have time to indulge in a leisurely morning. She closes the bathroom door carefully and uses the loo, then has a quick shower. She sneaks around the bedroom to get dressed, put make up on and brush her hair. Will doesn’t move the entire time.

_Will’s depression is mild, and he’s doing what he needs to do to get better._

The phone call from Habib was a godsend. She did more research when she could (between doing her job) and realised that actually, things are perhaps not so bad. Will’s quiet and sometimes defensive, but not angry or abusive. They pick at each other and have loud arguments, but she has absolutely no thoughts about leaving him because he’s entirely impossible (he’s not), nor does she feel their relationship is heading towards disaster. So she freaked out a little and she’ll try not to do that again.

She has breakfast and a little coffee, thinking it might help perk her up. Her stomach doesn’t churn with the caffeine but she feels like she’s indulging in something entirely forbidden. She has just a little, but she doesn’t really enjoy it. It seems strange. Three weeks ago she was drinking coffee like normal (which she probably shouldn’t have been doing, seeing as she was pregnant, but didn’t know it), and for three weeks she’s given it up, and now she doesn’t seem to miss it at all. Just like three weeks ago she was stressed out about starting her new job, and now she’s been doing her job for three weeks and finds it only a little stressful.

Things have changed.

And they’re surviving.

She goes to say goodbye to Will, trying not to wake him too much, but still wanting to tell him she loves him and that she’ll see him later. It’s only the day she’ll be gone, but for some reason it feels significant. It is the first time they’ll be truly apart since he got out of prison. Which was also, only three weeks ago. Will murmurs at her when she says goodbye and she leaves, feeling buoyed and ready for her day in DC (but also hoping he’ll be ok without her there to keep an eye on him).

 

**********

 

Will wakes to his alarm. He feels groggy, like he’s been woken from a dream he isn’t sure has actually ended. He has to tap several times at his blackberry to get it to stop blaring at him, but at least it was an effective way to wake him at six in the morning. He looks over to Mackenzie’s side of the bed, but of course, she’s already gone (he’s probably only missed her by an hour or so. And to think, if she hadn’t gone to DC today, he’d have been forced to tell her he’s getting up early today. And why). He gets up and uses the bathroom, then dresses and takes a cab to New York Presbyterian. He follows the signs to the cardiology department and reports that he’s there for his appointment. He has to take a seat to wait a moment, so pulls his phone and has a quick look at the news alerts. Nothing interesting. He notes there’s no message from Mackenzie, even though she said she’d text, and then he remembers that he wouldn’t normally be awake at this time, so that’s not entirely unreasonable. He thinks about texting her himself, asking how her flight was, but then he remembers: he’s not normally awake at this time. Texting her will just alert her to the fact that he’s doing something unusual, and that is only going to worry her. He puts his phone back in his pocket.

He doesn’t wait much longer before he’s called to go back. A nurse easily inserts an IV line into the crook of his left elbow and then asks him to take his pants, underwear and jewellery off (he wants to point out he doesn’t wear jewellery, but he has a wedding ring now). She gives him a hospital gown and tells him she’ll back to shave him. He goes through to the procedure room and lays on the table and the nurse comes back with a razor. She whips his gown aside to shave a little square into the top of his left thigh, and she doesn’t expose anything at all, but Will feels vulnerable. He tries to inadvertently shield his balls.

He’s given a sedative and a local anaesthetic and then the doctor cuts into his groin to insert the sheath, which will then have the catheters fed through the artery to his heart. Will can’t feel them particularly, snaking their way through his abdomen, just the odd sensation of extra pressure in his groin, and the occasional strange tugging sensation. He actually feels pretty sleepy, so doesn’t pay much attention to what’s happening exactly. He knows they’re using the catheters to check the pressure of his heart and later a dye is injected to assess how well his heart is functioning, despite the apparent failure of his aortic valve. Then the cardiologist passes the catheter through the faulty valve and measures the blood pressure on each side, to see just how badly it’s failing. The procedure takes thirty minutes, but it feels longer and there’s a part of Will that doesn’t quite believe it’s happening (there’s also a part of him that wonders if he’s exposed down there; the gown could slip aside. He has no underwear on. Is he awake right now?).

Afterwards, he has to lie still for about an hour and a nurse comes periodically to make sure he’s not bleeding to death out of his groin. He might doze off at one point, but he’s not quite able to fully relax. Eventually the nurse tells him he’s ok to go home. She instructs him to take it easy and be on the lookout for any extreme swelling, bleeding that won’t stop, or any pain. She removes the IV. Will puts his pants and shoes back on, his groin and elbow feeling tender. The results will be sent through to his internist, so Will should expect to hear from him within the next few days. He hobbles back through the hospital and out to the street. For a second, he stands, the fresh air cool on his face, and wonders what his wife’s doing right now, and if she’s ok (he wonders what he’s doing, not telling her about this).

Then he hails a cab and gives Habib’s address.

 


	32. Chapter 32

He’s a little early, so he sits outside on the steps in the summer sun, remembering to turn his phone back on to see if his wife has text him and she has.

 

**Hey babe. How’d you sleep?**

**I’m here safe and sound.**

**Maggie picked me up from**

**the airport! Let me know when**

**you’re awake.**

Well, that would be now. He’s awake. And yes, he checks his watch, he would normally be awake at this stage of the morning, so it’s safe to text her back.

 

**I’m awake. Glad you’re safe.**

**Say hi to Maggie.**

_My appointment went well. Of course, now my groin hurts. And not because of something fun. I miss you. I wish I had told you about it. But I know you would have put off going to DC because of me._

 

Mackenzie doesn’t text him back straight away and he thinks, ok, she’s busy, that’s fine. He puts his phone on silent and slides it back into his pocket and sits in the sun for another minute before deeming it not so early to show up for his appointment. He goes up the stairs and is let in by Habib’s administrator, who suggests he go wait in the other room. He does. The sun pours through the window behind him, and he chooses to sit in the light, letting it warm the back of his head.

“Hi Will,” Jacob greets him.

Will looks up for his daydream. “I didn’t even hear you come out,” he gets up and follows the other man into his office.

“Are you limping?” Habib asks.

“It’s nothing,” Will dismisses. He takes a seat opposite the doctor’s and waits for the other man to begin with his obligatory ‘so how have you been Will?’

Habib grabs Will’s folder from his desk and sits, laying out a notepad on his knees. He looks up at Will with his benign smile and asks, “What do you want to talk about today?”

“You’re not going to ask me how I am?” Will asks.

“I have an idea,” Habib answers.

“I could have had a miracle breakthrough since Monday and be completely cured.”

Habib’s smile gets a little wider. “Have you had a miracle breakthrough since Monday and are completely cured?”

“No.”

“So, what would you like to talk about today?”

“I had a catheterisation test of my heart this morning and I wish I had told Mackenzie about it so she would have gone with me, but I didn’t, because she’s in DC and I don’t want her to worry about me.”

Habib raises his eyebrows. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. They gave me a mild sedative.”

“I meant, the test. Should you be here right now?”

“I promised Mackenzie I’d keep the appointments,” Will counters.

Habib purses his lips. Apparently he decides not to argue the finer points of that statement, because he asks instead, “Did it go well?”

Will gives a slight shrug of his mouth. “I think so. But I won’t get the official results for a while.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means my internist is going to take a look at them.”

“The results being good,” Habib clarifies patiently. “That means your heart is ok?”

“It means the faulty valve isn’t doing me a lot of damage just yet.”

“But it could in the future?”

“Yes.”

“So are you going to tell Mackenzie about it?”

Will blinks at the other man for a second. A long second. Several long seconds. Habib waits on him. “I don’t –” Will starts. “The timing is just not right, right now.”

Habib nods lightly and even though he doesn’t say anything, Will knows what he would say anyway: there may never be a perfect moment; the longer you leave it the harder it will be.

“She would want to know,” Habib says instead.

“Yeah, I know, but, she’s got other things on her mind.”

“She worries about you anyway.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

“What is she in DC for?”

“Work.”

“How long will she be gone?”

“The day. She’ll be back tonight.”

“Could be a good opportunity to talk to her then.”

Will indicates he’ll consider it, but really, no he won’t. Mackenzie will come home tired, and probably grouchy and he’ll feed her and put her to bed early so she can get enough rest, for her and the baby.

“Why are you afraid of telling Mackenzie?”

Will shrugs, “I’m not.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“I told you, I don’t want to –”

“Burden her,” Habib chimes in. “Why are you afraid you’re a burden?”

Will thinks for a moment. A good long moment. It’s actually a good question. “I have no idea,” he says honestly.

“Could it have something to do with your father?”

“Jesus, not everything is about my father,” Will grumps angrily.

“Bear with me,” Habib suggests. Will looks away to the wall, but he doesn’t dissent. “How did your father treat your mother?”

“You already know this,” Will says tightly.

“Tell me about it,” Habib insists gently. “From ten year old Will’s point of view.”

“He treats her like shit,” Will says roughly. “Aside from when he’s hitting her, he’s mean, and drinks too much, and I know there’s not enough money, but sometimes he spends all day just sitting around the house. Ok?”

“Why is there not enough money?”

“The farm doesn’t always do well,” Will supplies, feeling hot in his cheeks and uncomfortable in his seat. His groin hurts.

“And, who does your father blame for that?”

Will feels himself get still. And tingly. “My mother,” he answers hollowly. “He blamed my mother, and then he took it out on her too. And us. He also blamed her for him drinking too much, and punching her when he was angry. She provoked him,” Will adds bitterly.

Habib nods. “So, your father modelled blaming his wife for his problems?”

Will can’t answer, because his throat has closed up painfully.

“And punishing her for his failings?”

Will still can’t answer.

“Are you your father Will?”

“No,” he grits out, not because it’s an automatic response, but because he’s starting to believe it. And not just that, he doesn’t want to be his father, so he will do what it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen.

“Do you blame Mackenzie for Charlie’s death?”

“No!” Will answers passionately.

“Do you blame Mackenzie for your illness?”

“No,” he repeats more calmly.

“Do you blame Mackenzie for being promoted and no longer being your EP?”

“Of course not.”

Habib stops there, his expression reading ‘so, do you get it?’

“It’s hard to say the words,” Will says in response. “I know all of these things but I can’t tell her about them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Will says shortly. “That’s why I come here.”

“Ok, let’s look at it this way. You don’t blame Mackenzie for the things that happen to you, but who do you think it is she’s going to blame, for the things that happen to you?”

Will thinks about that for a second, just so he can delay giving the answer he thought of immediately anyway. The answer he already knows is wrong. But can’t help think: “Me.”

“Could it be possible you don’t talk to Mackenzie because you think _she_ might blame _you_ , for things that are happening right now?”

Will has to look away.

“Will?”

“That could be possible,” he says quietly. “I honestly don’t know.”

Habib nods. “Does she blame you for Charlie’s death?”

“Jesus,” Will breathes. “No.”

“How about your illness? Does she blame you for that?”

“She doesn’t even know about it.”

“I meant the depression,” Habib says gently.

Will blinks at that.

“It’s an illness Will. It’s not who you are and you _will_ get better.”

Will’s not sure, but he thinks he might be blinking back tears.

“You do understand that?” Habib pushes gently. “You are not the depression. The depression is an illness and it can be treated.”

“I know,” Will says, but, perhaps, he didn’t know. Because it’s really getting him in the gut right now.

“Are you afraid to talk to Mackenzie because you think she might think less of you?” Habib asks next.

Will shrugs.

“Do you remember Monday? You came in and told me you’d talked to Mackenzie on the weekend about being depressed. Do you remember what you said?”

Will doesn’t have to think back. He does remember. But he takes a moment anyway. “I said she was amazing.”

“You did,” Habib agrees. “You were very enthusiastic about your conversation, about how she had reacted and you said ‘she doesn’t see me as a burden.’ You felt good for talking to her.”

“Then why is it as soon as I leave here, I forget all of that? I know all of this stuff. Intellectually, I know this, but –” He gestures to his chest. “It’s like my brain doesn’t communicate with my heart.”

Habib gives that slight genial smile of his. “Because you have a large heart. You feel things a lot more deeply than most, which is completely fine, Will. And because when it comes to matters of the heart, your father taught you to see something underhand in every interaction.”

Will sighs.

“But the negative thoughts and low mood are also the depression,” Habib adds. “So eventually we’re going to get through all of this stuff.”

“I hope so,” Will mutters. He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “I feel so up and down all the time. It’s exhausting.”

“It will get better,” Habib repeats. “You can practice talking to Mackenzie by talking about smaller things though.”

Will looks over at the therapist. “What do you mean practice?”

“I mean, start talking to her, about smaller things that you need to deal with, so you can practice communicating. And so you can see how she’ll react to situations. She may surprise you, like she did on the weekend.”

Will considers that a moment.

“When you prosecuted your first case, you didn’t jump in the deep end straight away did you?”  
“Before I argued in front of a judge?”

Habib nods.

“No, I practiced about a thousand times in front of my television and then my second chair.”

Habib gestures with a hand, ‘see’?

“All right,” Will nods. “You want me to practice with my television?”

Habib chuckles. “Sure. If that helps. Or talk to yourself in the shower.”

“What about that stuff you made me read?”

“Getting stressed while in the middle of a communication?”

“Yeah. What does that have to do with it?”

“That’s so you can recognise when you’re getting stressed in the middle of a conversation, and stop yourself from getting defensive, and it from escalating into an argument.”

“I don’t get defensive,” Will says indignantly. Habib just raises his eyebrows at him. “All right fine, I get defensive,” Will mutters. He nods though. “Ok, I’ll try that.”

“Great,” Habib says enthusiastically. “You can let me know how it goes next week. Unless you want to see me earlier?”  
Will gives a pout of his mouth. “I think I’ll be ok.”

“You can always call if you need to and make an extra appointment.”

Will nods. “I know.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

Mackenzie hefts her satchel to her shoulder and files off the plane, turning her blackberry back on as she shuffles forward a foot at a time (though, not such a big line, seeing as she used Will’s credit card to upgrade the flight ACN paid for to first class). The device pings immediately as it receives three text messages in quick succession. One is from Jim, the other from Grady, and the last is from Will; he text half an hour ago, when she was already in the air. She opens his first.

 

**I’m here.**

She smiles to herself (a crazy, excited kind of grin that she apparently can’t help) and replies:

 

**Me too.**

Then she quickly responds to Jim. Grady, she will see tomorrow (if she doesn’t drop dead from exhaustion). She finally clears the aircraft and strides through the waiting lounge towards the terminal. She doesn’t have any other luggage, so frees herself from the other passengers quickly and starts scanning the crowds for Will. Her phone in her hand buzzes. She stops to check it.

 

**I can see you.**

Mackenzie smiles again and taps out a quick reply, before glancing up to search for him again. She looks up, above the heads of other people, for the blonde hair, and thinks she can see him standing by a bathroom. She starts walking towards him, her phone buzzing again.

 

**I am NOT creepy.**

She’s still grinning as she winds around a couple consulting a map and finds her husband. He’s dressed down after broadcast and he’s holding a bouquet of pink flowers, waiting on her. Gosh he looks handsome, and the smile he gives her when their eyes meet is so beautiful. She steps in close to him, dropping her head to rest it against his shoulder, her face pressed to his shirt. He smells like him, sans the horrible deodorant he’s worn since a boy (she really didn’t mind it until she got pregnant. Didn’t really even notice it). Will stands there for a second, then brings an arm around her back, holding her against him. He kisses the top of her head and gives her a moment and she’s so grateful for him not asking how she is (which reminds her again that she doesn’t need to ask him how he is either. It’s obvious, isn’t it?)

She steps back and looks up at him and he gives her a tentatively hopeful expression. “Home?” He asks.

“Yes, home,” Mackenzie agrees. She feels achy, all over, but she thinks she’s just drained.

“Straight to bed,” Will murmurs as they turn. He takes her bag from her shoulder and hands her the flowers.

“I was gone fourteen hours.” But she’s smiling. She doesn’t hear if he answers her. He puts his arm around her shoulder and starts guiding her out of the building.

“Sorry I missed my flight. And dinner,” she apologizes contritely. He says something she doesn’t catch against the burst of noise of an overhead announcement, and presses his mouth to her head again. They bump into each other awkwardly as they walk, their strides unmatched. Will drops his arm and takes her hand instead. Mackenzie leans close against him, synching the way they walk so they don’t inadvertently push each other away.

“Are you limping?” She feels him stiffen against her for a second, but he brushes her query off with a brusque ‘no’, and she’s too tired and fuzzy to recognise it as something she should push at.

“How was DC?” He asks instead.

“Fine,” she answers. “Good. I mean, good, to go, and meet people and talk about the future.”

“What about the future?”

“Just where the network’s going.”

“Is it going somewhere?”

“If Pruit has his way, yes.”

She thinks about asking him to carry her. And he would try. So she doesn’t. But holy crap the airport has gotten so freaking huge. It takes forever to get to the cab rink and as Mackenzie sinks into the backseat she feels she could cry for how freaking tired she is. She’s glad she made the trip now though, and not when she’s even more pregnant than she is; she can only imagine it would be more of a nightmare.

She falls asleep against her husband as they head into the city. Will takes her phone from her hand and rescues the flowers before they hit the floor. He puts her phone in his pocket and tucks some of her hair back from her face. Then he sits back, settling his wife against his side a little more, so her head doesn’t loll either. This is nice. He missed her. There’s something about knowing she’s out of town that makes him feel melancholy (a whole other melancholy when she’s out of the country). He pays the cabbie with cash, accidentally nudging Mackenzie awake as he leans forward. He guides her upstairs and she slumps against the elevator wall as they go up, as if she lacks the energy to even stand any longer.

“You got a haircut,” she notes.

“Yeah,” Will looks down at her.

“It’s nice,” she looks up at him, her eyes crinkling slightly. “Very handsome.”

Will beams a little. The car stops. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Mackenzie doesn’t even respond. She lets him guide her inside their apartment and to the bedroom. He tells her to brush her teeth while he turns down the bed, and gets her pyjamas ready. He helps her change, while she tells him about what Maggie’s been up to since she moved. She tells him the cute little coffee place down the road from the news studio has closed, and in its place is a Starbucks the entire staff frequents, much to her disappointment. She laments that they would have boycotted it, right Billy? Because the independent coffee house was so cute. But what Will remembers is that Mackenzie was so cute and the only reason he agreed to all those working lunches there was because she liked it.

“Oh god, I’m so _tired,_ ” Mackenzie groans as she finally climbs into bed. Will puts the main lights out, switches on the nightlight (though he’s not sure if she needs it anymore, now that the midnight bathroom trips have ceased) and starts to change for bed himself. “Are you coming to bed?” Mackenzie asks, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she settles in.

“It’s nearly midnight,” Will notes.

“Is that your bedtime?”

“Yeah,” he says, tugging his shirt off.

“Did you see Habib today?”

Will puts on a clean shirt for bed. “Yeah. Go to sleep.”

“Was it good?”

“It was.”

“That’s good,” Mackenzie muses, throwing the blanket back so the top half of her torso is exposed. Will takes his jeans off and goes to brush his teeth (trying not to limp, in case Mackenzie is watching him). When he comes back he tiptoes around the bed but Mackenzie’s dark eyes flutter open at him as he gets under the covers. She reaches out a hand for him and he takes it, turning on his side to slide in next to her. She gives a contented sigh. “You had a busy day.”

“Hm?” He asks.

“You had a lot on today?”

For a second, he thinks she’s also including his hospital appointment into that category, but how could she possibly know?

“Go to sleep,” he urges, shifting the blanket behind him so there is no draft on his back.

“Are you going to sleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sleeping better then?” Her eyes flutter open at him again, and she squints.

“No,” Will admits. “It takes me forever to get to sleep and then it’s difficult to wake up in the morning.”

“Have you talked to Habib about it?” She blinks in a way that says she’s surprised he shared that with her.

“A little.”

“He didn’t prescribe you something?” She asks curiously.

“No,” Will says gently. “Go to sleep.”

“Do you think he should?” She asks sleepily.

“I’m getting some sleep, so that’s not so bad.”

“Hm,” Mackenzie hums. “That’s good,” she murmurs.

“Please go to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m falling asleep now,” she mumbles.

Will leans forward to put a kiss on her forehead and she gives another hum, or sigh, and her lips quirk into a half-hearted smile, and then she goes quiet. Will just about holds his breath but she doesn’t talk to him again and he relaxes after half a minute, convinced she’s finally slipped off. He turns slightly and reaches out a hand to put his light out, plunging the room into darkness. He keeps hold of his wife’s hand though. Her fingers are warm against his, and he can feel the band of her wedding ring. He closes his eyes and feels the way his groin pounds with his heart beat, and immediately starts thinking of how he can possibly tell his wife that he has a faulty valve in his heart.

 


	34. Chapter 34

Will wakes to the sound of his phone ringing. It wakes him from a dead sleep, and he feels awful and sluggish. He reaches for it blindly and thinks he’s answered it as he presses it to his ear, tentatively checking with a toe to see if Mackenzie is still in bed (she is not). The phone rings in his hear and he jerks the device away, annoyed and sleepy. He answers it properly, and then puts it to his ear again. The voice on the other end of the call has him sitting up, clearing his throat, paying attention; his heart pounding. It’s his doctor with the results of the catheterisation test.

“As we expected, your aortic valve has narrowed. It’s measuring one point two centimetres,” Graves starts with.

Will has done his research. He’s done so much research, he’s barely looked at the baby books in the last week. Normal diameter for the aortic valve is between 2.5 and 4.5 centimetres.

“So we’re looking at a mild stenosis,” the internist goes on.

One centimetre is the mild stenosis limit. If the valve gets any narrower, he’ll fall into the moderate stenosis category. It makes his stomach tense and his groin throb, where the small wound from the catheterisation test two days ago still is.

“Now, your LVEF,” Graves goes on, which is the measure of how well Will’s left ventricle is actually pumping blood out of his heart. “Was fifty-five percent.”

Right on the threshold for normal. Anything less than fifty-five is not normal.

“But your blood pressure looks good,” Graves muses. “And the tests are not showing anything particularly concerning. Still no other symptoms?”

“No,” Will answers, though his heart feels funny in his chest right now.

“I think adopting a ‘wait and see’ policy will be fine right now,” Graves states, and goes on to lecture Will about coming back immediately if he notices any chest pain, shortness of breath, or other worrying symptoms. Will says he will, and they end the call.

Well, Will supposes, that’s relatively good news, though in the long run, the aortic stenosis is going to cause him problems. Sooner or later. But at least for now, he’s ok. Not fine, but ok. And he can deal with ok.

Actually, it’s a weight off his chest, so to speak. He’s not having other symptoms, so he’s not in danger of dropping dead at any moment and he won’t need surgery right now (to replace the valve). He’s been given time. Time to sort out his marriage and prepare for the baby and get rid of his depression; things that are pressing. So it _is_ good news then. He can focus on something else now.

Will brings his blackberry closer and, ignoring the other notifications and the news alerts, finds his wife’s number.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie has her phone in hand when Will’s call comes through. She slows to a stop outside Pruit’s office on the twenty-first floor and answers it.

“Hey,” Will greets. “Have you told him yet?”

“I’m on my way there now,” Mackenzie answers softly, stepping away from the door. Pruit has his blinds almost closed, so she can see him, but she moves further away so he won’t be able to see her.

“Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” she says lightly. Of course she was going to, but no need to pick a fight over it. “Are you usually awake this early?”

“It’s eight forty five.”

“I don’t know what your sleep habits are,” she says loftily. He doesn’t answer her (no need to pick a fight over it). “Are we having lunch today?”

“Sure.”

“Then I shall report back to you then.”

“Ok.”

“By the way, Kelli Poul signed the contracts. Thought you might like to know.”

She figures he would have found out from someone at some point, but she’s not sure what kind of sharing relationship Will and Jim have, and besides that, she knows he likes or wants to hear information from her, as soon as she knows it (or can tell him). It seems important to him in a way she hasn’t quite figured out yet. Because they’re married? Because he wants to know more than the rest of their staff?

“Right,” Will says. “When is she starting?”

“A few weeks I think. You should ask Jim,” she tests. Will grunts in response. “Honey, I have to go, Pruit’s waiting on me.”

“Good luck.”

“Love you.” She hangs up the call and steels herself a little, and then walks into Pruit’s office. She didn’t knock first, because he doesn’t knock on her door either; two can play that game. It’s been a tentative truce between them, for at least the last week, but Mackenzie fears a return of the time when he pushed her to have every answer to every problem he created. It was stressful.

Pruit looks up from his phone as she comes in. “Did you know baby pandas were born in Atlanta two days ago?”

“I did know that,” Mackenzie takes a seat in front of his desk, resting her folder on top of her knees, her blackberry on top of that.

“Huh,” Pruit notes. “I didn’t.” He puts his phone down. “So the numbers are looking ok. Not where I think they should be, but they’re not completely in the toilet.”

“You’d have us competing with Fox,” Mackenzie notes. “If you had it your way. Which we are never going to achieve –”

“If you don’t try,” Pruit holds up a finger.

Mackenzie frowns at him. “You’d have to triple our budget and start – never mind.” She shakes her head a little. “I actually came to talk to you about something else.” Her heart starts to pound. This really shouldn’t be a difficult conversation, but the timing is lousy. She just started this job, and she’s already telling her boss that she’s taking extended leave in six months.

“Jane Barrow?” Pruit asks, his blue eyes going wide. He leans back in his chair a little, arrogant.

Mackenzie blinks. “No, what about Jane Barrow?”

“She’s asking for a pay rise.”

Mackenzie frowns. “What? When?”

“Got an email this morning.”

“She emailed you?” Mackenzie asks, her voice getting louder with surprise. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“Nope,” Pruit says lightly, and it seems as though he’s enjoying her reaction.

“Why didn’t she go through Josh, who would come to me?” Mackenzie asks him, as if he’s responsible.

Pruit gives a shrug.

“There’s no room in the budget to give her a pay rise,” Mackenzie says immediately, annoyed. Actually, she could look, and maybe squeeze things around, but she’s not going to. “Not that she deserves one anyway,” she adds a little snidely. Bitch. “She’s got some nerve,” she adds, almost under her breath, but not quite. She wants to see how Pruit reacts to it. She wants to know if Barrow and Pruit have some sort of secret relationship Mackenzie doesn’t know about, which would be a nightmare, to have the network’s most difficult anchor in cahoots with the new owner.

Pruit gives an amused shake of his head. “I totally agree.”

“I’m not even going to look,” Mackenzie goes on, warning him off. “If she wants – what? You agree with me?”

Pruit spreads his hands genially. “She needs to go through the correct channels. I don’t have time to deal with her; that’s your job.”

“Lucky me,” Mackenzie adds dryly.

Pruit laughs again. “I’m sure you’ll handle it appropriately.”

Mackenzie gives a tight smile (was that a personal endorsement?), but no, she’s not going to be a petty bitch about it. “I’ll call Josh,” she says.

“Good,” Pruit says, dipping his chair back further so he can rock in it. “So if you didn’t come to talk about Barrow, what did you want to talk about?”

Mackenzie’s heart jumps to her throat again. “Actually, I –”

“I’m pregnant,” she says firmly. “I came to tell you I’ll be taking leave in January.”

Pruit just rocks for a moment and then when he realises she’s serious, or what she’s said has sunk in, he jerks forward and plants his feet on the ground. “You’re pregnant?” He asks disbelievingly.

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

 _My sentiments exactly_ , Mackenzie thinks dryly.

“Are you fucking serious?” He asks, but not raising his voice.

“Yes,” Mackenzie says again.

“Were you pregnant when you took this job?” He ask sharply, his gaze boring into hers.

“Yes, I was pregnant when you _offered_ me this job,” Mackenzie responds steadfastly, looking him right in the eye, even though he hardly offered. To be fair, she didn’t refuse.

“Jesus fuck, you think to tell me that at the time?” Pruit jabs.

“I found out that day, while I was _burying_ my friend, so it wasn’t really –”

“Jesus,” Pruit breathes. “For how long?”

“Will I be on leave?” Mackenzie asks, eyebrows raised. He’s not asking how long she’ll be pregnant, is he?

“Yeah, are you quitting?”

“No,” Mackenzie says sharply, and wonders if that’s maybe what he would want. She wonders if he’ll fire her. She wonders if he can. (No, she doesn’t think he can, but he might find a way to get rid of her otherwise.) “I’ll take the twelve weeks.”

She thinks about adding ‘that I’m entitled to’ but she suspects that might just sound a little too righteous. Or antagonistic. And it’s not that she’s afraid she’s going to lose her job, but there are ways to make her life miserable and what she really needs right now, what she really _wants_ is to just maintain the status quo.

“So that’s all of January until March?”

“Probably. I haven’t decided how many weeks I’m going to work up to.” Mackenzie feels her cheeks heat a little. She probably should have worked that out before coming to talk to him. But the truth is, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t have a lot of time for thinking about these things, and besides that, it’s too soon to tell how she’s going to feel in January. “I think you should consider bringing up Josh Minahan from DC, and splitting the workload with Grady.”

“Grady covered before you started,” Pruit points out.

“And he did a great job with the administration part of the job, but Josh knows the news; if something breaks, you’ll want someone with experience guiding the newsroom.”

Pruit stares at her for a long moment. “Fine. If you think that’s what’s best.”

“I do,” Mackenzie nods.

They stare at each other a moment.

“Was that all?” Pruit asks, but he’s not entirely rude.

Mackenzie nods. “Yeah.” She waits a beat but he says nothing else and she gets up to leave his office, wondering if she should prepare to duck for any shots that might be fired later.

 


	35. Chapter 35

_One Month Later_

_17 th August 2013_

 

Lovely lazy Sunday.

Laying in bed, dreaming about a nameless blond-haired boy bringing her daisies picked from someone else’s front yard. Her husband beside her, under the covers, warm and solid and sleepy, a hand curled over her hip. A half thought about putting the daisies back, as if that can save them.

The urge to pee.

Mackenzie blinks awake, taking a moment to orientate herself, to wake properly before attempting to get out of bed. The sun is up and basking the room in a warm honey light, teasing the edges of a fading summer. She slides away from her husband, his hand dropping to the mattress behind her, eliciting a half grunt. When she comes back, he’s curled partially onto her side of the bed. She slides in against him, nudging him to move so she can lay within the embrace of his arm. He’s awake enough to accommodate her, but she lets him sleep and he doesn’t talk to her either, so clearly he wants it. She feels the hotness of his breath against her collarbone as she threads her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

She waits on him to wake. He’s still stuck in the habit of going to bed late and sleeping late and now that she’s actually feeling good in her pregnancy, she’s not so tired. She’s gotten into the habit of going to bed earlier and waking earlier than she has for years, when she was producing a nightly news show. Their schedules aren’t very synced, but in some ways that’s good. They see each other at work a lot and they spend all weekend together, and so having a few hours to themselves in the mornings is good (Will is not really a morning person anyway). At first, it seemed like it was going to be so hard, that they would miss each other more than they would see each other, but it’s worked out ok. They’re doing ok.

“Are you awake?” Will murmurs into her shoulder.

“Uh huh,” she answers softly. “I can feel the baby moving.”

Will moves. He blinks at her sleepily, squinting. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she gives a slight nod. “I thought I felt something strange a few days ago but I wasn’t sure. But now,” she nods against the pillow again with a smile. “I definitely can feel it.”

Will’s expression gets soft.

“It’ll be exciting when you can feel it too,” she adds.

“It will,” he agrees and dips his head to press a kiss against the top of her belly. “And not feeling sick?” He looks up at her again. Mackenzie shakes her head. She’s been nauseated on and off for the last month. Some days she didn’t even notice it, but some days (when she was stressed) it was still there. But this last week? Nothing. She feels good. “That’s good,” Will notes softly.

“It is,” Mackenzie reaches out for her tablet and then snuggles against Will so that she’s within the cocoon of his arms. “I was thinking about the crib.”

“Ah jeeze,” Will grumbles gently.

“Shush,” Mackenzie says bringing up the web pages.

“I’m not even awake.”

“We’re having a conversation, which implies that you are.”

“I thought you decided yesterday.”

“I did,” Mackenzie confirms.

“When we went to fifty stores.”

“Five stores,” she corrects. “And then I kept thinking about it.”

“You should stop doing that,” Will presses his face into her hair.

“Can you look please?” She tries to nudge him free.

“Do we have to do this now?”

“Isn’t this the perfect time to do this? When we’re both here, and work isn’t going to distract us, and nothing is going to interrupt us?”

Will mutters something into her hair. 

“You know I can’t just lay in bed.”

Will grunts, but he raises his head with a sigh. No, she cannot just lay around in bed. “All right, which one?”

“This one,” Mackenzie shows him, turning the screen towards him so he can see.

He glances at the device, “Honey, get that one if you want that one. I don’t have –”

“You should. Because we’re not making decisions without including the other person remember?”

“I trust your judgement,” he says instead.

“We’re not changing our wills, or opening bank accounts, or enrolling anyone in preschool without talking to our significant other about –”

“All right!” Will cuts in, half turning, so he’s more on his side, than lying on her.

“Ok, then I’m getting it,” Mackenzie says loftily.

“I didn’t enrol the baby in preschool,” he adds gruffly, and rests his head against the pillow.

“So _you_ say,” Mackenzie mutters, making the online purchase. He did change is will though, and freak her the fuck out when she found the paper work left on the kitchen counter. When he’s suffering from mental illness and she was paranoid about him feeling so miserable he might… And he did also open a bank account for the baby’s college fund. Which is practical and everything but also way, way ahead of the game.

“Do you want to assemble it yourself or do you want them to do it when they deliver?”

“Whatever.”

“We could do it together?” She tries to cajole. Bonding. And also, keeping him occupied. So he doesn’t enrol their sixteen week old foetus in post-graduate school.

“Sure,” Will agrees. “Do you want to paint the nursery first?”

“Why are we painting the nursery?”

“It’s lavender.

Mackenzie puts the tablet down and turns over to face him. “And?”

He opens sleepy blue eyes at her. “What if it’s a boy?”

“A boy can’t have purple walls?”

Will blinks at her, a little stunned. He suspects there’s going to be an intense challenge of the idea that boys have to have blue and girls have to have pink, and he wonders if it really bothers him, or he’s just repeating something that’s basically been reinforced to him since he was a boy himself.

“I spent forever picking that colour,” Mackenzie notes lightly.

“I remember,” Will murmurs. Lord _almighty_ did she spend _forever_ picking out that colour. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Boys can have purple rooms.”

“You’re so sure it’s a boy?” Mackenzie asks sweetly.

Will gives an amused smile. “No. But either way, lavender is fine.”

Mackenzie smiles more broadly and she shifts forward to hug him, “Thank god. Can you imagine me trying to decide on a new colour?”

He laughs and kisses her forehead and then rests his cheek over the same spot to seal it. She gets kisses on her cheek, forehead and hair. He holds her hand, and cuddles against her in bed sometimes (instead of sleeping way on the other side of the mattress with his back to her). But still… It’s not enough. Mackenzie presses her mouth against his neck, kissing him softly. He gives a hum and his arms tighten against her a little. Encouraged, she steps it up a notch, kissing along the underside of his jaw until she moves up and reaches his mouth. His hands slide into the small of her back and she leans on him further, until the baby presses into both of them and becomes uncomfortable. She shifts, holding on to his hip to keep her balance, sliding a thigh against his groin.

“Mac,” Will murmurs against her mouth, but he’s not warning her off. He turns her, so he can lean over her instead, kissing her neck. It makes her toes tingle. It makes her want him so badly she thinks ‘fuck it’ and throws her ‘no pressure’ policy out the window. She raises her leg to his hip, inviting him in closer. He slips a hand under her shirt, riding up to her rib. She shudders, pulls away from him a little. He gives her a bewildered expression, “Did I hurt you?”

“My scar,” she half whispers, her voice husky and strained. “Feels strange when you touch it.”

Will pulls back a little further. “Strange?”

“It’s still a little numb.”

“That was years ago,” Will notes with a frown. “It still bothers you?”

“Not bothers me,” Mackenzie clarifies, recognising his graceful withdrawal from fooling around for what it is: withdrawal from fooling around. “It’s just a little numb in some patches and when you touch me like that it feels strange because I can’t quite _feel_ it, even though I _know_ it’s happening.”

Will watches her a moment, then seems to give a slight nod, as if he accepts her explanation for valid. Mackenzie leans up and gives him a quick kiss. “I’m going to go finish in the shower,” she says lightly, respecting that ‘no pressure’ policy after all (because pushing merely causes a fight), and climbs out of bed. She’s pretty sure the delay in pithy comeback is because she’s surprised him, and that makes her feel smug. She’s trying not to pressure him about having sex, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to (or understand why they are not).

“Can I watch?” Will finally asks as she reaches the bathroom door.

Mackenzie turns when she’s crossed the threshold. “Only if you’re going to participate,” she says lightly over her shoulder and closes the door swiftly.

Will lays on the bed a moment, staring at the door. Was that serious? Was it an invitation? He listens to the faint sound of water against the tile. Well, yeah, it was probably an invitation. He’s very aware of her desire to have sex with him (which is actually quite nice, knowing that his wife wants him), but she’s not pressuring him. She’s not nagging or harassing. It’s great for him, to not have to tell her ‘no’ all the time, but still, the longer it goes on the harder it gets (or doesn’t get, as the case apparently is). He doesn’t know how to explain it to her.

Oh, fuck it.

Will gets out of bed, kicking the blanket away and turns the handle of the bathroom door carefully, pushing the door open an inch. He presses his face to the gap but can’t see his wife in the shower from this angle. He gives it another inch and the shower is coming into view. Mackenzie is using the furthest shower head, so he has to go another inch, and even though the glass is starting to fog and obscure her, she’s definitely not ‘finishing in the shower’ (though he wonders how much ‘finishing in the shower’ she’s doing these days). She’s washing her hair.

Will steps into the room and carefully shuts the door behind him. When he turns, she hasn’t noticed him, her eyes closed as she tips her head back to rinse her hair clean. He pulls his shirt off, drops his shorts and heads towards the shower. She turns then, surprised, when she hears him come in. He goes straight to her, and she smiles, and starts to say something that he shushes with a kiss. It takes her a second, but she melts into him. Her hands slide over his shoulders, holding onto him. Will digs his toes into the non-slip beaded mat (that’s apparently supposed to massage his feet while he’s showering or some shit), and holds onto her as well. He lets his hand slide down over the front of her hip and between her legs. She doesn’t step back or move his hand away or tell him to stop. She actually gives him more room to get in there.

Oh, the way she feels against him. Aside from the slipperiness, which is nice, the curves of her body and the smell of her shampoo are familiar and wonderful. She makes little noises in her throat and shudders against him and the sound of his own name in his ear comes out husky and sexy. He should be turned on, and he _is_ a little aroused, but really, he’s not. It’s the depression and medication and the baby, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do things for her. She does _so_ much for him.

Mackenzie is not exactly a ‘stand back and let things happen’ kind of girl. And it gets to the point where Will starts to worry she’s going to knock them both over in the shower, non-slip mat or not. She’s pregnant and he’s old, so ending up on the shower floor is not going to work out well for either of them. He pulls away from her and she flat out whimpers at him (that should really be doing more for him). He reaches up and turns the shower nozzle to fire water against the wall, then backs her up carefully to sit on the ledge he insisted on being built in when they renovated. The ledge he was mocked for.

What do you need a seat for in the shower Billy?

For sitting on.

He makes her sit, even though she’s starting to complain the tiles are cold. “No they’re not,” he tells her roughly (the shower water should be warming them up for her right now), kneeling in front of her (oh god, his knee is not happy with this already).

“What are you doing Will?” Mackenzie asks anxiously, trying to push him back by the shoulder. He ignores her easily and she doesn’t object for long. She doesn’t object much at all, really, and he loves the way her voice gets hoarse as she’s crying out his name. He stops to ask her how she likes his seat in the shower. She tells him to shut up and keep going.

“Seriously,” Will bites lightly at the inside of her thigh, making her twitch, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Wasn’t it worth it?” Water pours into the left side of his face. He snorts a little into his nose and it stings. Mackenzie tries to push his head back against her but he resists. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mackenzie grumps.

“Pardon?”

“Yes,” she says again, with a bit more enthusiasm.

Will licks her thigh, making her jump. “I can’t hear you?” He looks up at her from her knee.

“Yes!” She says loudly, her eyes dark on his. She tilts her head back, “Yes!” She yells at the ceiling.

That’s exactly what he was looking for.


	36. Chapter 36

“If it’s a girl,” Mackenzie starts slowly, rolling on to her side to face him. Will looks away from the book he’s reading (he’s moved on to the Mommy pregnancy books in his quest to really get his head around having a baby – and he’s read everything else) and Mackenzie lifts his arm to cuddle up under it. “I’d like to use the name Amelia.”

“Amelia,” Will murmurs, feeling sleepy. “Ok.”

“Really? That was easy.”

“Hm,” Will agrees. He closes his eyes. “It’s a nice name.”

“It is,” Mackenzie agrees. He feels her fingers on his cheek, but can’t bring himself to open his eyes to look at her. “Are you going to sleep?”

“Hm? No. Just resting my eyes.”

She laughs softly. “How about William for a boy?”

Will pulls his eyes open and looks over at her. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to – don’t name our kid after me.”

“I say again, why not?” She pushes up to lean on an elbow, her other hand rests right over his heart.

Will gives a pout of his mouth. “I think he should have his own name.”

“So you don’t want to use Charlie anymore?” She raises her eyebrows cautiously.

“That’s different.”

“How is it?”

“Because Charlie was a great man.”

“So are you,” Mackenzie says softly. She leans forward to give him a kiss and he kisses her back. “Give me a real reason.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable with it, ok?”

Mackenzie studies him a moment but she says ‘ok’ in a dismissive way and Will suspects that that’s not going to be the end of it. He’ll think about why it feels uncomfortable, and maybe he can give her a decent explanation. His first thought is that naming his son after Charlie is an honour, but naming him after himself would be a burden. But seeing as he’s trying so hard not to think of himself as a burden on anyone, let alone his wife and kid, he’ll have to find a different tact with Mackenzie.

“I also like Laurence.”

“Jesus, no,” Will shakes his head.

“What’s wrong with Laurence?”

“I don’t like that name, that’s why.”

“Did you have a fight with a Laurence once?”

“No,” Will says patiently. “I don’t have to have a ‘thing’ with someone to not like a name.”

She smiles easily, so he knows he’s being teased. “Ok, no Laurence then. What about Lewis?”

Will considers it. “Maybe.”

“I’ll take a maybe!” Mackenzie says enthusiastically. “I’m going to start a list, before we forget,” she rolls to the side of the bed. Will picks up his book again but he’s just finding his place when Mackenzie’s back with a notepad and pen. She sits next to his hip, crossing her legs and leaning the paper on her right thigh. She draws a line down the middle of the page. “Ok, Lewis,” she writes the name on the paper. “And Amelia.” She writes that too and looks up at him. “Anything else?”

“I’ve always liked Jack,” Will tells her.

“Ok, Jack,” Mackenzie writes that.

“This isn’t the final decision is it?”

“Just a list,” she crinkles her eyes at him. “I can imagine we’re going to change our minds a million times and probably agree and then disagree for months.”

“We agreed on Amelia.”

“We did,” she says lightly, which makes him think they haven’t. Even though she suggested it. “But I reserve the right to change my mind and to veto.”

“What about Jodie?”

Mackenzie considers it a moment. “I don’t hate it,” she writes it down.

“Well that’s something,” Will notes.

Mackenzie smiles as she looks up again. “We should talk about how we want to raise the baby.”

Will watches her a moment. “I assume feeding and clothing it is a given?”

“It is,” she says slowly. “I’m talking about other things.”

“Religion?”

“Yes, religion.” She pauses and he can just about see her mind working over why he brought religion up first. “And parenting style.”

Will watches her this time, with a slight frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I think we should agree on a style _together_ so that we’re consistent. And we’re, you know, imparting things that are important and fit with our morals?” She raises her eyebrows slightly, inviting him to comment.

Will thinks for a moment. “I don’t really know what you – give me an example.”

“Well, like, discipline. I’m going to assume smacking is out?”

“You can assume right,” Will says tightly, his chest feeling tense.

“So, then, how would you like to impart discipline?” She doodles on the notepad, colouring in a square she’s made with the ruled lines, avoiding his eyes.

He thinks again. “I honestly have no – how did your parents discipline you?”

“Usually I was sent to my room,” Mackenzie muses, looking up and out the bedroom windows. “For an indeterminate amount of time. If it was in the afternoon or evening, it would be for the rest of the night. If I did something in the morning, then it was usually a few hours.”

“That sounds ok.”

“It was horrible!” Mackenzie counters, shooting him a glare. “I didn’t learn my lesson, I just resented them for banishing me.”

“Oh.”

“Sometimes I’d have television privileges revoked.”

“Did that work any better?”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie muses. “I think that was a better punishment.” She nods slightly, “That kept me in line a bit more.”

“Is it too soon to have these conversations?”

“No,” Mackenzie answers immediately. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

“I don’t know. It seems like this kind of thing is a long way off. We’re not going to be disciplining a six month old.”

“No,” Mackenzie says carefully. “But, parenting isn’t just about discipline. There are a lot of other things to consider. And there’s _so_ much information out there about being a good parent and raising kids that are confident and well-adjusted and resilient.”

“Resilient?” Will queries.

“Yeah.”

Clearly, there is much he doesn’t know about being a parent. Apparently, it’s not all just about loving his kid. And not beating them. Jesus. Is this another one of those scary things Mackenzie mentioned at Charlie’s funeral?

“Do your parents have a good marriage?” Will asks.

Mackenzie blinks at him a moment. She gives a little frown as she answers, “They’re still together.” She sounds unconvinced.

“Yeah, but, do they have a good marriage?” He presses.

“Well.” She pauses. “Honestly?” Will nods. “I don’t really think – do _not repeat this_ ,” she warns with a glare, and he draws a finger over his heart – ‘cross my heart’. “They used to fight _a lot_ when we were kids. They’d do it in the other room but we always knew. My dad was away _a lot_ and I don’t think Mum was very happy about it.”

Will’s not sure that answered the question. And he’s not sure about pushing. It took him awhile to build up to even asking her the question in the first place.

“So, I don’t think they were happy all the time,” Mackenzie adds. “Most of the time. I don’t know.” She gives a shrug.

“Are there things you’d do differently?”

“Things they did in their marriage I’d do differently in ours?” Mackenzie asks, her tone cautious and the frown back.

“Yeah. I mean, my dad hit my mom. That’s something I’d like to not repeat.”

Mackenzie gives a slight smile. She reaches out with her hand to squeeze his wrist and he takes her fingers, slotting his through hers. “I think that’s a _really_ great thing,” she gives a nod to confirm her point of view. “I think I’d like to have more of a democracy in our marriage than _they_ did. My dad was _very_ much in charge of the household and my _mum_ often did things she was unhappy about but did _so_ because that’s what he wanted.”

“Like?” Will prompts.

“Specifics?”

“Sure.”

“Well, all the travelling for one.”

“Your mom didn’t like it?”

“Not at all. Dad was _hardly_ ever around. He was always gone for work. He left her to _raise_ us on her own. And when he _was_ around there were always a lot of parties and the like.” She stops talking and watches him a moment. “Not that I think we’re going to have that specific problem. Travelling,” she adds.

Will gives a quirk of his mouth. He _thinks ‘not unless one of us embeds again’_ but doesn’t say it aloud in case he jinxes it (surely she wouldn’t do that again now?) “Ok, but, a democracy marriage. Ok.”

Mackenzie looks over at him cautiously, out of the corner of her eyes, pretending to be looking down at her meagre list and lone square. “Do you think we have that now?” She asks casually.

Will thinks for a moment. He pauses to think so he makes sure he says what he really wants to say, instead of the first thing that comes to mind, which is often something snide or combative. He also does it to make sure he’s not getting stressed and is letting his emotions answer for him, instead of his brain. Habib will be so proud. “I think we do,” he says almost haltingly, but not quite, because there’s a ‘but’. “However, I don’t think we’ve really been tested in regards to one person wanting something and the other not.”

Mackenzie watches him a moment. “Aside from changing our wills?”

Will feels heat rush up his chest and he just about bites his tongue to make sure he doesn’t react badly to that dig. “I was just trying to be practical,” he says evenly.

“I know,” Mackenzie resigns. “I guess we haven’t been challenge – you were in prison.”

“Well, that wasn’t a decision we got to make.”

“It could be argued that we _could_ have – no, you’re right.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out again. Then she moves to lay next to him once more, manoeuvring while still holding on to his hand. “I think we’ve been challenged, but maybe not in a democracy decision making capacity yet. Being parents will though.”

“Right,” Will agrees. “Yes, you’re right. Though, seeing as I clearly have no idea, you’ll probably win most of those democratic votes.”

Mackenzie gives a huff of a laugh. “That might change with a well informed electorate.”

Will smiles at the opposite wall, then looks over at his wife. She’s looking up at him from his shoulder, smiling as well. “I guess I’m going to need some new books.”

Mackenzie’s smile gets wider. “Before you go out and buy a bookstore, you should look into the different parenting styles and techniques and we should talk about one that we might want to follow.”

“You don’t want to wing it?” Will asks rhetorically.

“My parents _winged_ it. Your parents probably _winged_ it. Rules changed on a moment’s notice and there were rules for us older kids and different ones for the younger children and it really just pissed me off.”

“Is that why you ran away?”

Mackenzie gives him an unimpressed expression. “I still can’t believe she told – going to read by the stream was _not_ running away.”

“You packed clothes!” Will retorts, amused.

“You never know what can happen,” Mackenzie says loftily.

“I used to run away. All the time.”

Mackenzie gets still and attentive next to him. “What happened?”

Will waves his free hand in the air. “I’d take off. Sometimes on my bike. Find somewhere quiet on the farm to hide. But I’d always go back.”

“Why did you go back?”

“I got hungry.”

She laughs and he smiles.

“Was it all bad Billy?”

Will thinks a moment. “I guess not.”

“What were some good things?”

He takes another moment to think. He thinks really hard, but he struggles. He shrugs against the mattress. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t think of one thing?” Mackenzie asks.

Will thinks again. He racks his brain but really, he keeps picturing his father standing over him with a fist raised. Or striking his mother, who’s cowering on their bed. Or his brother and sisters crying. He remembers the day his father punched a farm hand in the face for letting a gate slip open, for allowing stock to get out, and him sprawling in the dust. He remembers _wanting_ to go to school to escape being at home, but _hating_ being in the classroom with teachers who saw the bruises, but didn’t do a thing about them. He thinks about the time his father went to prison for a three month stint and it was the happiest of his life. But he doesn’t want to answer ‘yeah when my dad was away it was the greatest’. He thinks about his mother, who tried her best, but was broken by the time Will was old enough to make memories that have lasted.

“I think leaving is the only good thing I can think of.”

Mackenzie doesn’t say anything, but she lets go of his hand so she can hug him properly, and places a kiss to his shoulder. She’s warm against him and even though his childhood is something that’s hard to talk about, he doesn’t feel like he could smash his fist through a wall, or that he could drink a bottle of scotch to try and forget about it. He doesn’t really feel much, thinking about it right now. He does think about how easily he finds it to talk to Mackenzie. That really, not everything in his life is all bad all of the time.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says next.

“Oh,” she breathes and shifts so she can place a kiss on his mouth. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me too.” She gives him soft brown eyes, the ones he could fall into the depths of forever.

He tries again to think of one good thing from his childhood, because he doesn’t want this conversation, that was supposed to be about their baby and their future, to kill the mood of their sweet Sunday. “My mom used to let me lick the spoon when she made cookies.”

Mackenzie smiles slightly. “You want to bake with our child?”

“No,” Will corrects. “Time. The best thing about my childhood was spending time with my parents. Dad took me fishing and Mom let me lick the bowl clean, even when I was older and there were other kids around and things to do.”

Mackenzie studies him a moment, watching and sizing him up, but it doesn’t bother him. When she looks at him like that he feels completely valid and whole. She gives a little nod. “I like that. I agree. Time is important. We should make an effort to spend time with our child. Even when he or she is older. One on one?” She queries for clarification and he nods. She mimics him for confirmation. “Yes, my mother didn’t spend time with us and it made me feel unimportant. So yeah, let’s spend time. And with each other.”

“We’re doing that now.”

“Yes we are,” she smiles happily.


	37. Chapter 37

_August 19 th 2013_

_Monday_

 

Mackenzie wakes before her alarm and sneaks it off before it activates and wakes Will. She can feel him at her back, radiating heat, but he keeps his distance. She carefully gets out of bed and looks back, and yep, Will is there but still fast asleep, a hand reaching out for her. The nightlight is on in the bathroom, the door cracked open just enough to let in light to walk around the room without stubbing a toe by. He says he leaves it on for her, just in case she needs to get up in the night, but she figures he can also use the light to stalk around their bedroom when he comes to bed at midnight (usually around midnight. She doesn’t keep track. She asked).

Mackenzie showers and dresses, does her make-up and leaves the bedroom carrying her shoes. While she waits for toast she checks the news alerts, but aside from more conflict in Syria, there doesn’t seem to be anything overly pressing. There’s a nervous bubbling sensation in her belly but she’s not anxious about anything (she doesn’t think); it’s the baby moving around and while it feels strange, it also feels wonderful. She’s just gone seventeen weeks pregnant, and in another month she’s going to be half way through. January is creeping forward slowly. It’s giving them plenty of time to work on their marriage, on Will’s depression, on figuring out a lot of things. It feels like a good pace.

Mackenzie beats Millie to the office, which she considers a personal victory, but goes almost straight to a meeting with Pruit and the rest of the various heads of departments. Afterwards, she stays for Brad’s breakdown of last week’s numbers. A slight dip. She feels Pruit’s eyes on her, but after she told him she’s pregnant, he’s backed off a little (Millie joked he’s afraid of pregnancy, like it’s something he might catch. But Mackenzie thinks it’s just that it’s stumped him. He’s not giving her a break because he wants to lighten her load; he just doesn’t know how to handle it). Small mercies. She’ll take it.

After that meeting Mackenzie finds a text from Will, saying good morning. It makes her smile and feel light in her chest and she texts him back that she loves him. It’s working. They’re making it work. Not everything is completely fixed, and there are things that they haven’t talked about. But things have been good and she’s feeling good about it. And when she gets back to her office her phone is ringing with a private number, which turns out to be Katherine, her doctor, with the results of the amniocentesis. “Is now a good time to talk?” Dr Mottola asks.

“Yes,” Mackenzie says, her heart pounding.

“Ok, great,” Katherine responds. “So I’m looking at the results now, and they are all negative.”

For a second, Mackenzie’s heart stops.

“So that’s great,” the doctor adds.

And then Mackenzie realises a negative test means they found nothing, not that it’s bad news.

“Thank you,” she rushes out on a breath. “That’s great news.”

“All your other tests are looking just fine as well,” Katherine muses, as if she’s reading them now. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot more relaxed with that news,” Mackenzie gushes on a breathy laugh.

“Great. You’re booked in for an ultrasound later this week?”

“Yes,” Mackenzie confirms. “Thursday.”

“That’s the big one. Have fun,” Mottola offers. “And don’t forget to let them know if you want to know the sex or not.” She hangs up.

Mackenzie feels her stomach squirm as she puts the receiver back in the cradle, and isn’t sure if it’s the baby moving, or her excitement in hearing that everything is just fine with the little guy or girl. Everything is _fine._ She picks up her blackberry and calls Will immediately.

“How do you feel about the name Andrew?” He answers.

“Uh,” Mackenzie is thrown by the response. “Sure, put it on the list. Listen –”

“I’m looking at this list now, and I’m seeing a lot of boy’s names.”

“We have time. _Listen_ , Katherine just called.”

“Everything ok?” He asks, his tone suddenly tight.

“She had the results of the amnio. Everything’s fine. The baby’s fine!” She bursts out excitedly.

There’s a slight pause. “It is? Thank god,” his relief is evident.

“Yeah,” Mackenzie agrees, grinning and gripping her phone too tightly, feeling her heart beat and imagining his is doing the same. It’s a very difficult conversation to have, deciding whether to terminate a pregnancy or not if the baby is not… ‘normal’.

“Babe, everything’s _fine._ ”

Now they don’t have to decide.

“I heard,” Will comes back. “I think we should celebrate. Sparkling apple juice at lunch?”

“Oh how you spoil me. But let’s make it dinner. Monday’s are usually crazy.”

“Dinner it is. Any requests?”

“Iskandar?”

“Sure. I added some names to this list.”

“What are they?”

“You can see them when you get home.”

“What?” Mackenzie blurts, startled again. “No –”

“See you later honey,” Will almost sing-songs at her. He hangs up.

Mackenzie listens to the sound of the call disconnecting in her ear. Now she’s intensely curious about those names. And a little worried (but she shouldn’t be. It’s not the final list). She still likes the idea of William Charlie though. She’ll just have to wear William Duncan down.

 

**Come on Will.**

**Tell me the names.**

Mackenzie waits for an answer but doesn’t get one straight away. She tries to focus on her work, but ends up bringing up lists of popular baby names on the internet. ‘Jack’ is on just about every list from the last five decades.

 _Jack Charlie McAvoy_ , Mackenzie muses.

No.

 

**Reginald. Evan. Primus. Oxygen.**

Mackenzie actually laughs as she reads the message. Funny man.

 

**Half of those better be a joke.**

Her phone pings with her husband’s response almost immediately.

 

**Which half?**

Hm, good point.

 

**The bookends.**

 

There’s a pause before his response comes through. It’s an image of their coffee table, with the notepad on it, just far enough away from the camera that she can’t quite make out the names he’s added. She can see they’re there, but even with her glasses on the image is too small, and when she tries to make it bigger, the letters just become a blurry black splodge on the page.

 

**You’re cruel.**

But hey, he must be in a good mood if he’s teasing her. She puts her phone down and focuses on her emails, closing the tabs of baby names. Then she picks her phone up again.

 

**To your pregnant wife.**

**Who’s pregnant, by the way.**

**With your baby.**

Will comes back straight away.

 

**Really? How did that happen?**

**I don’t know, considering**

**I’m resigning myself to a**

**sexless marriage at this point.**

**I’m trying!**

Opps, she feels bad for not quite teasing him about that. Her cheeks heat when she thinks about the shower. He _is_ trying. There are glimmers of hope there. (It just feels like she’s been patient forever.) Her phone pings again.

 

**Michaela. Chloe. Marina. Andrea.**

Mackenzie considers them for a moment.

 

**To be fair, I think we**

**should nip any alliteration**

**in the bud. Also any name**

**that could be shortened or**

**converted to an unfortunate**

**nickname. And no rhyming.**

Her desk phone rings so she has to take a moment before she can get back to her conversation with Will. Then she gets another notification that an article has been posted about Will somewhere online (funnily enough, it’s not something she set up. It’s something she inherited from Charlie, the William McAvoy alerts). She brings it up to take a look. It’s another tabloid story about her _and_ Will. There’s a photo of them out shopping for baby furniture on the weekend. She figures Will hasn’t seen it (yet), or he’d be calling her again. He was not happy with all the other articles that came out after they went official with her pregnancy. For some reason ‘shot gun wedding’ was bandied about _a lot_ when really, anyone who can do math could figure out they were already engaged long before she got pregnant. And ok, yeah, they did suddenly move their wedding forward by quite a bit, but that was because of Will going into prison, not the baby. She didn’t even know about the baby then. Even though, technically, she _was_ pregnant before they tied the knot. But only someone who knows her due date would be able to figure that out. She hasn’t even made it official with Pruit, let alone anyone who’s not a friend or family.

It was Pruit who released a statement to the press about her pregnancy. It makes him look even better. Not only did he hire a woman to be his News Director. She’s also pregnant. How liberal and non-sexist is he? He doesn’t have a problem with women. And he completely supports women having children while also having a career, and Mackenzie will be back at her desk when she’s ready (apparently).

Mackenzie closes the article and focuses back on her phone.

 

**Which one of those has**

**a rude nickname?**

Clearly, he hasn’t waited for her to answer him, because there’s another message a second after he sent the first.

 

**Andi? Blowie? (Rhymes with Chloe. Does that count?)**

 

Mackenzie laughs a little, and then she gets an email from Pruit who wants her to consider getting the news teams to use Snapchat, during their work day. Her response to Pruit is: I’ll look into it. While she thinks: what has that got to do with reporting the news? (Cue mental whiny foot stomp.)

 

**I’ve crossed Richard**

**off the list. Let me know**

**if there are more.**

Mackenzie’s not sure what’s happened, but she’s loving this side of Will. Sex acts in the shower, teasing text messages (a crap ton of text messages that don’t involve ‘how are you feeling?’ ‘how about now?’ ‘how about now?’), and a suddenly intense interest in picking a name for their baby (when he has, until now, resisted. His argument: it’s too soon to even think about it). This is good. A good change.

 

**Andi (boy or girl) and**

**Chloe are both fine. But**

**what is your position on**

**either gender names?**

Will’s response comes through quickly.

 

**No objection.**

**Do some work.**

**I could say the same to you.**

**At least I’m at my desk.**

**Me too. Love you.**

**Love you too.**

 


	38. Chapter 38

_August 20 th 2013_

_Tuesday_

 

Clearly, Will has found the list.

He’s crossed out ‘Christian’, ‘Trevor’ and ‘Brooklyn’ and written ‘what the fuck?’ next to ‘William.’ Perhaps a little aggressive, but Mackenzie wasn’t entirely serious about most of the names she added to the list last night before she went to bed (except William. She’s serious about William). Will must have found it on his nocturnal wanderings, because she knows he hadn’t seen it before she went to bed, and now Mackenzie is sitting on the couch, watching good morning television before she has to leave for the office, giggling a little to herself with how easy it is to wind him up sometimes. He’s added some really sweet names to the girl’s column (Susanne, May, Julie; she’s not sure about Demi, so crosses it out). He’s also crossed out Duncan – which she’s pretty sure is a family name (his father was John Duncan).

When Mackenzie gets to her office Millie is already there (that’s one to Millie), organising her phone messages. Then she goes into a meeting with a web expert. Not to have him explain what Snapchat is to her (she hates the idea. They’re doing the news, not reality. They’re not depicting life through photographs, otherwise they’d be print media), but so she can manage ACN’s news website properly. Web pages are slightly out of her league, and Neal’s, though he tries. His expertise isn’t quite centred on how to get web page hits. She likes him in control of the content, but Lesley Podeswa can tell her about traffic.

 

**Lesley? Boy or girl.**

 

Then she goes to find Pruit and explain to him why Snapchat is a horrible idea in general, and, more importantly, how there’s no way she’s going to let her staff use it during their work day.

 

**********

 

Will wakes to the ping of his phone. It’s a message from Mackenzie. It takes him a moment to figure it out, but he texts her back: ‘no’ to Lesley as a name choice for a boy or a girl. He gets out of bed and goes straight for the living room. The list of names is there on the coffee table where he left it last night, but yep, as he suspected, she’s seen it and added to it. She’s put William back in the boy’s column with ‘WHY NOT????’ underneath. He sighs and sits, picking the sleep from his eye while he thinks about how he’s going to explain the ‘William’ thing to her in a way that’s actually going to get her to back off. She’s put ‘Crystal’ in the girl’s column but he doesn’t like – wait, Chris, Chrissie, Crystal… No, he doesn’t like it. He crosses it out. The page has become a mess of a few surviving names and a lot of scribble. Arguing on paper is new for them, but it’s better than yelling matches, or silent seething.

He has breakfast and gets ready for work. The heavens open while he’s in the shower so he takes a cab to work and he’s still shaking water out of his hair by the time he gets upstairs to Mackenzie’s office. She’s looking at something on her computer, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose so she can see over them and through them at the same time. She gives him a smile as he comes in and he thinks she looks so beautiful. She shakes the hair out of her eyes and pulls her glasses from her face. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Will responds, taking a seat opposite her desk, even though, for a second there, he was tempted to walk around the desk and kiss her.

“Have you seen the morning tabloids?” She asks cautiously.

Will shakes his head. “Why?” He pulls his phone to check.

“We were spotted furniture shopping on Saturday,” Mackenzie tells him as he finds the newest article himself and quickly scans through it. “There’s really nothing there,” she adds, trying to dismiss it. It’s a nice photo of Mackenzie; horrific for him. He notices that actually, this article was posted yesterday and she hasn’t mentioned it until now.

Will puts his phone back in his pocket. She’s watching him, eyebrows raised, waiting for it. He raises his hands, palms up, in an open gesture, signalling that he doesn’t care. He does care, he wishes strangers wouldn’t talk about his or his wife’s life, but as it’s been pointed out to him, these things are not important in the grand scheme of things and wasting his energy being pissed off about it is pointless. There’s nothing he can do about it, he can’t make the stories stop (he knows that from the last time he seemed to be a popular topic of conversation; and the time before), and so he may as well find a way to be somewhat at peace. Even if he’s not happy.

“Well, I was expecting a little more than that,” Mackenzie notes, leaning forward slightly on her desk so that her breasts push up (phenomenal). “But I’ll take it.”

“I’m working on my chill,” Will says. The article is innocuous. Even if it erroneously brings up their ‘shot gun wedding’ again.

Mackenzie bursts out a laugh. “Your chill?” She asks, looking amused and delighted. She leans back in her chair, grinning.

Will grins back with a shrug.

“You seem good,” Mackenzie notes softly.

Will gives a slight nod, a slight smile. “I do actually feel good.”

Mackenzie’s face transforms to that carefully optimistic/proud of him/teary expression. “That’s great Will,” she says, her voice thick.

“Probably the medication kicking in,” Will says. Though he’s not sure about that. It’s only been five weeks since he started taking it. Six weeks is supposed to be about right. 

Mackenzie’s face hardens slightly. “Still? That’s good though?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees lightly. “It is.”

“And what about?” Mackenzie hesitates, her eyes flickering away. “Other things?”

“What other things?”

“The other part of your treat – therapy,” she almost whispers, leaning forward again, her eyes darting to her open office door. “Is that helping? We haven’t checked in, in a while.”

Which is code for: we’re not talking about it. We’ve spent the last month not talking about it.

It seems easier that way.

But perhaps not better. It’s easier to not tell the truth, to not worry the other person, to not have intense, emotional conversations that neither of them know how to handle, or know what they want to get out of them. But that means they don’t have honest conversations or communicate clearly and while Will has been talking to Habib about it and has been learning to communicate healthily for the last month, he has yet to put it in practice. It feels like it’s time though. To let his wife in.

“It’s good,” Will gives his standard answer and she gives a nod and lets it go, because she promised not to pry or harass. She’s been patient and given him space. “Really feel like I’m getting somewhere,” he adds; throws her a bone.

She gives a slight smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s good honey.”

Will gets up. “I should get to work.”

“Me too,” she agrees, her smile warm this time. “See you for dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says and goes.

 

**********

 

“Do you know what Snapchat is?” Mackenzie turns to him in the elevator.

“Sure,” Will gives a shrug of his mouth. “It’s a – no I have no idea,” he leans against the elevator wall and crosses his arms.

“Pruit wants our _staff_ to use it during their work day.”

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open with a soft ding.

“Or, at least, he _wanted_ them to,” Mackenzie walks out of the car and down the hallway to their apartment.

Will trails after her. “I still don’t know what Snapchat is,” he says to her back, checking out her ass.

“It’s an app that you share photos with but they can only be viewed for a few seconds at a time. Pruit wants us to post them to a staff account that anyone can follow,” Mackenzie explains sliding her key into the lock of their front door. She twists it and lets them in.

“That sounds…”

“Stupid?” Mackenzie supplies, dumping her purse on the little table by the door.

“Well, a waste of time,” Will adds. “Shouldn’t our staff be working – when are they going to have time to take selfies?”

Mackenzie gives him a surprised expression. “I didn’t even know you knew what a selfie was. But yes, I agree, it’s inane.”

Will heads to where she’s standing and places his hands on her upper arms, “Why would you need a photo to last a few seconds? Aren’t they supposed to be memories of a lifetime?”

Mackenzie gives him a faint, amused smile, “Dick pics.”

“Well I guess that makes sense,” Will says dryly. “You hungry? You want something to eat?”

“No,” Mackenzie shakes her head, smiling more fully as she looks up at him slightly. “I’m good.”

“How about tired? Do you want to go to bed now?”

“I’m ok,” Mackenzie says, looking a little amused now.

“All right,” Will turns her gently. “Come and sit with me a moment, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Is it serious?” She asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“It kind of is, yeah,” Will says, trying to keep his tone light though, directing her to sit on the couch.

“Should I be worried?” She asks cautiously.

He takes the spot next to her and she looks at him expectantly, a tremor of worry in her deep brown eyes. “I think we should see a marriage counsellor.”

Mackenzie’s face morphs into surprise and then a frown. “Jesus _Christ_ Will, you think our marriage is already _fucked!?”_ She gets louder as she gets to her feet and paces quickly away from him. “How can you _say_ that to me?”

He didn’t think she would be ready to jump at the suggestion, but he wasn’t quite expecting such an outburst. He had a speech ready. Now _he’s_ thrown. Practicing communicating doesn’t always predict how someone else is going to react. Especially Mackenzie. That was his mistake.

“No,” he tries.

“We’ve been married three months –”

“I don’t think we’re –”

“– time to work things out.”

Will feels his chest get tight, his skin get hot, and his hand curl into a fist (he would never, ever swing); he’s agitated. He’s agitated because Mackenzie is agitated and he knows if he matches her word for word, volume for volume, this ‘conversation’ will escalate into a screaming match. And since he’s working so hard on actually _communicating_ instead of yelling or bullying he closes his mouth and takes a breath. Mackenzie rants on, either not noticing he’s gone suddenly silent, or not caring.

“ _You_ might have issues, Will, but I _don’t_ , so don’t put this on _me_.”

It’s a zinger, and it’s low, especially for her, but Will tries to tell himself it’s just noise, it’s just her ‘fight’ mode; he’s cornered her (but he didn’t see any other way to ease into such a request – well, that’s not fair. He could have eased her into this conversation. But he was nervous about bringing it up. Hindsight). This is just her normal reaction to information she doesn’t like, or isn’t prepared to hear, so even though it hurts to hear her say that, to not want to take partial responsibility for what is, essentially, a joint effort (their marriage), he still doesn’t say anything. He waits it out. Even though it’s difficult. He waits it out, so he doesn’t say something he will regret.

He’s kind of lost the thread of her monologue, but she’s moved on to pointing out she’s been busy, not ignoring him, and that she already promised him that she was in it for the long haul, and is that not enough for him? She finally stops in the middle of their living room floor and folds her hands under her chest, defiant in expression and body language, asking what it is that he wants from her. She glares at him, expecting him to respond now. Will stands slowly, placing his hands on his hips (so he can do something with them, and isn’t putting them in his pockets).

“I’m not suggesting we see a marriage counsellor because we’re in crisis and heading for divorce,” he starts. Mackenzie drops her arms and opens her mouth to protest (or yell at him some more), but Will holds up a hand to stop her. And she does. “Two days ago we sat in there,” he gestures to their bedroom. “And you told me we should think about how we want to raise our kid so we get it right from the start. And you told me how your parents didn’t have a great marriage and I told you mine sure as shit didn’t. I don’t have any role models for this. TV and movies are great for romance but they never show you how to work out an argument without it being a fight or,” he gestures to the room. “How to deal with the day-to-day stuff.”

Mackenzie blinks at him. Still glaring, but at least listening.

“We’re reading a million books on what’s happening with the baby’s development and what’s going to happen in the delivery room so that we’re prepared, but we didn’t do a thing to prepare for being married. I’ve never done this before. I don’t even have past mistakes to work off. Except for my parents.”

Mackenzie looks away to the mantle, then back at him. Still defiant.

“I just want to make sure we get it right from the start. We’re three months in, and we’re doing ok, but things are happening and we have a baby on the way,” he gestures at her. “And we’ve barely had time to get used to being a couple again, let alone being married, and the baby will be here _soon_.”

Mackenzie unfolds her arms.

“And that’s going to be stressful. Plenty of marriages don’t even survive having children because they don’t have good foundations, and I don’t want that for us.”

Mackenzie drops her arms to her side, opening to him, so he walks around the coffee table and places his hands on her upper arms, dipping a little to meet her eyes. She watches him intently and he lowers his tone to almost cajole. “I want to be married to you for the rest of my life, and let’s face it, even though I’m likely to go first, I still want to… do it the best way.”

She almost smiles, and lets out a huff of air to cover it.

“I’m not saying we have issues, or that you have issues, I’m just saying, let’s take advantage of all those decades of research people have done into what makes a good marriage, a good relationship, and have one too. Now. So we don’t go into a crisis, possibly, maybe, at some point in the future, after our kid is born, or wake up one day to find we’ve grown apart and then it’s too late to put it back together again.”

“Circumvent,” Mackenzie finally supplies.

“Yes!” Will enthuses softly. Mackenzie’s eyes suddenly well up. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” Will apologises automatically, and pulls her against him.   
Mackenzie huffs a laugh at him (or a sob) and shakes her head. “No, don’t be sorry. You’re being practical and oddly romantic and I just lost my shit at you when you’re trying to do something.”

Will gives her oblique eyebrows. “Don’t cry. I’m used to it.”

That makes it worse.

Mackenzie mashes her face into his shoulder and laugh/sobs again. Will puts his arms around her and she melts against him. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs into his shirt. “I did say those things, about the baby, and I do _not_ want to have a marriage like my parents with all the arguing and silent standoffs.”

“And no matter what, we’ll never have a marriage as bad as my parents. I promise you that,” Will says, cupping the back of her head. Her hair is really soft. And it smells really good. 

“I’ll do it,” Mackenzie moves back and looks up at him, her eyes so dark, and also watery. “If you want – I want to. I want to get this right too.” She reaches up on her tiptoes to press her mouth against his. Will kisses her back tenderly, holding her tightly. “I want to be married to you until you die too. And let’s face it, you’re likely to go first.”

Will gives a very light chuckle for that attempt at breaking the tension (even though he doesn’t particularly want to be dwelling on his mortality). He feels proud though. That totally worked. He didn’t get emotional and angry, even when she did. He articulated what he wanted to say. He made it about them, not her, or him. And it worked. She heard him.

“You have someone in mind?” Mackenzie asks quietly.

“Ah, no, I thought about maybe asking Habib if he could recommend someone.”

Mackenzie nods. “Let me know.”

But she doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

 


	39. Chapter 39

“So Thursday,” Mackenzie says into the darkness of their bedroom. She feels Will shift an arm next to her. He’s actually in bed with her, in pyjamas, under the covers, but she doesn’t know if he’ll get up again when she inevitably falls asleep before he does. He seems more rested these days, but she doesn’t ask how he’s sleeping because she doesn’t want to nag. And he doesn’t say. So she doesn’t know.

“The twenty-second?” He thinks for a second. “I don’t know what – what about Thursday?”

“The ultrasound?”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t forgotten.”

Mackenzie gives a wry smile he doesn’t see. “We can find out the sex of the baby.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.” She feels her husband shift again and then the nudge of his hand against her breast, then lower against her elbow. “Are you trying to cop a feel?” She asks lightly.

He finds her hand and takes it. “No, sorry,” he mutters and squeezes her fingers.

She adjusts her hand against his, but she wishes he _were_ trying to cop a feel. She doesn’t understand why he’s not attracted to her sexually anymore, and yeah, that’s a really big issue. Sex _is_ important in a marriage and if they’re merely three and a half months into theirs and are already not having sex then she thinks there’s something really wrong with that. She gets that he’s been unwell (and maybe still is, she’s not sure, they haven’t checked in about it in a while), and that maybe he’s not in the mood (and yeah, she noticed in the shower when he was on his knees for her that there wasn’t anything happening for him in that department), but she also doesn’t get it. They _just_ got married. After six years apart. Aren’t they supposed to be in their honeymoon phase?

She wants to talk to him about it, but they don’t seem to be able to have conversations about the serious stuff without them escalating into fights. So maybe he’s right, maybe they do need some marriage counselling, because there are other things she wants to talk to him about, but doesn’t want to upset him. She doesn’t want to upset him, but she also wants to know. She wants to know how he feels about Charlie’s death, because they haven’t talked about it. And she wants to know more details about his childhood, because they’re going to be parents. She realises they haven’t talked about much over the last month or so, and wonders if he’s noticed that as well. And she wants to be able to bring that up without him getting defensive. They’re both far too good at that reaction.

“So, the ultrasound?” Mackenzie pushes through the heavy feeling in her stomach. The feeling that makes her want to confront him now, for answers and peace of mind. The feeling that makes her hang on to his hand tighter, in case he slips away from her.

“Yeah?”

“Do you _want_ to know the sex of the baby? Because if you _don’t_ , then we need to let the technician know.”

“Oh, uh, what do you want to do?”

“What do you want to do? I asked first.”

“I guess I’d be ok with knowing if you wanted to know. And –”

“I –”

“I’d be ok with not knowing if you didn’t want to know.”

“I kind of want to know.”

“We could go trad – oh. OK, sure –”

“You don’t want to know?”

“No, I mean, yes, I’m ok with knowing.”

“So then, we’ll know,” Mackenzie says firmly.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Mackenzie agrees.

They’re silent a moment and Mackenzie feels a nervous furrow of her stomach (thank god it’s sturdy again). She’s going to know.

“Am I meeting you there?” Will asks.

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

They’re silent again. A gust of wind catches something on the side of the building and makes it creak. Mackenzie thinks she can hear traffic. She turns on to her side, facing her husband, and shifts her hair out of her face. “How’s Carl doing?”

“Who?”

“Carl Marston?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Will repeats.

“The producer Jim hired to replace Maggie? Started yesterday?”

“No idea.”

Mackenzie lets out a huff of air.

“We haven’t been introduced,” Will says.

Mackenzie laughs again. “You have –”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“A little. Honey, have you noticed any of the new staff?”

“Who’s new?”

“Kelli, Jim’s senior producer, Carl a producer, Franklin Glatter, the intern, there’s –”

“I noticed Maggie left.”

Mackenzie laughs lightly, “Good for you.”

“Is Franklin the kid that looks a bit like that kid from the Harry Potter movie?”

“Which kid?”

“The gangly kid hanging around the newsroom.”

“I meant, which kid from Harry Potter? Also, when did you see those movies?”

“They were – the friend of the main kid who tried to stop him from leaving the common room one time.”

Mackenzie thinks hard for a moment. She’s seen the movies, but that was a million years ago. “I can’t even –”

“That kid.” Will says. “He’s not English is he?”

“The kid in the movie?”

“Franklin.”

“I don’t – no, I don’t think so.”

“So probably not the same guy then.”

Mackenzie chuckles. Is he being funny on purpose? “Probably not, given those movies were filmed a decade ago. I’m sure the actor who played Neville Longbottom has grown up since then.”

“You’d hope so,” Will muses. “If we find out the gender of the baby, does that mean you want to repaint the nursery?”

“No, we already talked about this. We’re going to leave it the gender neutral colour of lavender.”

Will gives a snort and turns onto his side to face her. Mackenzie’s eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to be able to make out his general features; she can see he has his eyes open. “Are you going to sleep?” He asks.

“If you stop talking to me.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

She can’t help but do the math; if she goes to sleep now, then she might get six and a half hours…

“Goodnight,” Will says firmly.

“Goodnight,” Mackenzie echoes.

 

**********

 

 

_August 21 st 2013_

_Wednesday_

 

When she wakes in the morning, Will has his back to her and they’re no longer holding hands. She reaches out to check the time and finds she’s woken three minutes before her alarm is going to go off. She takes her phone with her to the bathroom, so she can dismiss the alarm as soon as it starts, so she doesn’t disturb her husband. While she’s waiting for it, she checks the news alerts. Overnight, gas has been dropped on civilians in Ghouta, Syria. She reads as much as she can, then switches to other news agencies, to see who’s covering what, to see what they’re saying about it. There are already reports that it was sarin. Kind of a buzz word for ACN. Shit. It makes her heart beat harder. She does some quick math, works out what time overnight the attacks happened. Ten pm local. Why didn’t she hear about it last night? She wonders if Jim’s seen it (surely he would have called her if he had?)

The blare of Mackenzie’s alarm startles her, makes her heart race harder. She switches it off quickly, finally gets off the toilet. She has a really quick shower and accidentally lets the wardrobe door bang open as she goes in. Will rolls over but he doesn’t say anything to her. She tries harder to be careful, closing the door quietly behind her, then dressing. For the first time, she notices her skirt is almost uncomfortably tight and it kind of surprises her. Yesterday, she didn’t notice anything. Today, her clothes feel tighter.

She grabs toast and eats it as she heads to the office. She goes straight to the newsroom and finds Kendra on the desk. “What are you doing here?”

Kendra gives her a dry expression, “Gary rang in sick.”

“What are they saying about Syria?”

Kendra brings forth a stack of papers, like she was anticipating the question. Of course she would. Sarin would have got her attention too. And Gary’s if he had been here. She walks Mackenzie through the reports as they came down the wire, what witnesses are saying and who’s currently on the ground. Mackenzie asks if anyone has footage yet, but Kendra gives a slight shake of her head. Just amateur stuff, nothing that’s been verified. Mackenzie checks the time. “I need to head up, but keep me in the loop,” she requests.

“Can I ask you something?” Kendra speaks up before Mackenzie walks away.

“Sure,” Mackenzie gives the other woman a smile.

“Why didn’t I get the senior producer job?”

Mackenzie looks at her feet for a second, then back at Kendra. “That’s really something you should talk to _Jim_ about. As executive producer, it’s his decision.”

Kendra doesn’t look happy. She adjusts the mouse on the desk an inch to the left.

“I think you deserved it,” Mackenzie says carefully, wanting to show the other woman she’s appreciated, but also not wanting to be seen taking sides, especially against her executive producer of her flagship show. She can’t be seen to be undermining anybody. “Are you unhappy here?” She shifts her weight so she’s almost leaning against the desk.

Kendra looks up and meets her eye. “I’ve been looking at my options.”

Mackenzie nods, surprised, but not surprised. “Before you decide _anything_ though, come and talk to me. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Kendra studies her a moment, then gives a nod. She looks back to her computer screen and Mackenzie straightens herself up, leaving to go upstairs. She calls Jim as she heads up.

 

**********

 

“This is our chance to fix the colossal disaster of Genoa!” Pruit says loudly, gesturing wildly with an arm (Mackenzie thinks he does it to make himself seem bigger. But she usually thinks that in her crueller moments). He’s passed from excited to almost pissed off, because no one is agreeing with him. Mackenzie, Jim, Don, Kelli and Will all sit (or stand) calmly in Charlie’s office, arrayed around the desk, staring at the owner of Atlantis Cable News while he tries to convince them that the chemical attacks in Ghouta are ‘breaking’ news, and that they should send a team out there right away to get on the ground.

Jim has already politely explained that these latest attacks are actually the fourth to happen in Syria this year, so they’re kind of, actually, not such a novel occurrence. What _is_ interesting is that a United Nations chemical weapons inspection team were already in the city of Damascus to investigate the use of chemical weapons. And, as it is, both sides are blaming each other. No one really knows what’s happening right now.

“We’re not going to fix Genoa by reporting a story on sarin that happens to be true,” Don points out.

“Genoa was two years ago,” Will says, annoyed but trying to act aloof. “Why are we still talking about it?”

“We’re going to get our integrity back by _acting_ with integrity,” Mackenzie tells Pruit. “I can’t justify travel to Syria without knowing more about what’s happening over there.”

“You aren’t going to know more about what’s happening over there,” Pruit says condescendingly. “Without having someone over there.”

“We research it from here,” Mackenzie says firmly, unperturbed by his tone, even though she sees Will straighten up in his chair out of the corner of her eye. “See where the story goes. We don’t even know who was firing the rockets at this point. And if there are more. And if it was even sarin.” She looks to Jim who nods.

“Well, so far, victims are reporting shortness of breath, disorientation, blurred vision, vomiting, weakness and loss of consciousness.”

“Is that sarin?” Pruit asks.

Jim glances at Mackenzie before answering, “Those are the symptoms.”

Pruit gestures at Mackenzie, his ‘see?’ expression.

“That’s unconfirmed at this point,” Mackenzie says. “I’m not going to cut in with ‘maybes’. We’re not in the business of making retractions.” She almost adds ‘remember’, because they’ve had this conversation before. But she refrains, because shaming him in front of a bunch of subordinates will only piss him off more. It’s not so much that she fears for her job, it’s more that she just doesn’t want to have an awful working relationship with the owner of the network. She doesn’t want free reign either; she actually wants to work _with_ Pruit. But it’s been difficult getting to that point when they seem to have vastly differing ideas on what reporting the news means. She thinks again about showing him the presentation Neal put together for her over a month ago. She just doesn’t seem to find the right time. She doesn’t want it to be a lecture, she wants it to be informative.

“Can I get back to the newsroom?” Jim asks into the pause of silence.

“Yes,” Mackenzie says, giving a sweeping gesture of her arm across her desk. “Everyone can get back to the newsroom.”

Jim and Kelli high tail it. Don gets up more slowly but he also leaves (she actually brought them all in to talk about what _News Night_ would cover, and what Don would follow up with on _Right Now_. Pruit barged in on them to insist they break in). Will doesn’t budge. Neither does Pruit.

When Mackenzie’s office door closes again, Will looks over at Pruit. “Is this a numbers thing?”

“The numbers are fine, Will,” Mackenzie answers.

“They could be better,” Pruit contradicts.

Will looks at Mackenzie and for a second, for a brief flicker of a second, Mackenzie thinks Will is going to side with Pruit. She imagines him saying ‘for the sake of the numbers, let’s…’ and there’ll be some holy cow suggestion of sensationalising the news that would go against Don Quixote and everything they’ve been working for in the last three years. But instead, he says, “I’m sure they could always be better,” and finally getting to his feet. “’A’ block,” he says to Mackenzie. “Re-fresh on the half, and if you still have someone over there who can get us footage…” He leaves it hanging in the air. She doesn’t normally take direction from him, not as news director, but she gives a little nod, because he took her side, and because that’s what she would have done anyway, if she were his EP. Will brushes past Pruit, who is standing with his hands on his hips, glaring, on his way out, which might not have been necessary.

“You should head down to the newsroom, see how they put a story together,” Mackenzie suggests, leaning forward a little on her desk.

Pruit stares at her some more. “I don’t have time.”

“One day, you should make time,” she suggests steadfastly. “Go down at broadcast. Watch from the control room.”

“You keep an eye on those numbers,” Pruit says tightly and leaves.

Mackenzie blinks after him, surprised, her heart beating a little harder. That definitely felt like a threat. And this time, for the first time since she took this job, she feels nervous for the numbers.

 


	40. Chapter 40

_August 22nd_

_Thursday_

 

Mackenzie spots Will in the main lobby of the hospital, tall and handsome, checking something on his phone, and approaches. He looks up instinctively from the device when she’s a few feet away and she gives him a smile. He smiles back, tucks his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and takes her hand when she offers it to him. They walk through to the radiology department, and Mackenzie lets the nurse manning the desk know that she’s arrived for her appointment. They’re asked to take a seat to wait. Mackenzie pops her purse in her lap and checks her phone: no messages. She puts it on silent.

“So, McAvoy huh?” Will says to her.

Mackenzie looks up at him. He looks pleased. “Me or you?”

“You,” he hints a smile and takes her hand again. “You’re going by McAvoy? I thought you were sticking with McHale?”

“Well, yes, _professionally_ ,” she says slowly. “But, we’re married… so…”

“Is that legal?”

“To keep a professional name?”  
“Legally, have you changed your name legally?”

She toys with it for a second, before admitting that no she hasn’t. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten around to it,” she says, seeing the slight hints of disappointment in his eyes and shoulders.

“Oh,” he utters, gives a slight nod, and looks over at the hallway leading off to the exam rooms.

“I’ll make time to do it,” Mackenzie offers.

“Oh, well,” he shrugs, dismissive, trying to indicate it’s not a big deal. Clearly it is. Two ‘oh’s’ in the space of two sentences tells her it’s a big deal.

Mackenzie looks down at their linked hands, the sharp white scar that curves around his right thumb. A treehouse building injury when he was eight, apparently. It was always her intention to take his name. So she’ll make a point to do it. Soon. Surprise him with it. “So are you excited?” She asks her husband.

He looks at her a moment. “About what?”

“That we’re going to see the baby,” Mackenzie says flatly, a sudden pang of worry that he’s not more enthusiastic, but to her delight, his eyes light up (two fold delight: he’s excited about the baby, and that his eyes light up. There’s not been a lot of light in his eyes since Charlie died).

“Yes,” he says warmly and it makes her stomach tighten with happiness.

“And that we’re going to find out if it’s a boy or a girl?” Mackenzie loosens her hand from his so she can tuck her hair out of her face. She needs a haircut. But doesn’t have time for that either.

“Yeah,” Will says, but is slightly less whole-hearted about it.

Mackenzie’s senses prick up and she drops her hand to her lap. “You don’t want to know the sex of the baby?”

“Yeah, sure I –”

“Because if you don’t want to know we don’t have t–”

“I already said I’m ok with knowing,” Will says firmly, and reaches for her hand again.

“Alright,” Mackenzie agrees, but feels suspicious. He says one thing, but acts in another. And she knows he does a million things to make her happy, even if he doesn’t want to. “I need to go shopping on the weekend.”

Will gives her a pained expression. “What for?”

“Maternity clothes? Or bigger clothes, at least. Mine have gotten tight.”

Will glances down at her slightly swollen abdomen. “You’ve never had a lot of room in your clothes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mackenzie asks with a frown.

“I meant that your clothes are small. You have small clothes. You’re small! I wasn’t suggesting –”

“You better not be,” Mackenzie grumps at him. “You don’t have to come shopping with me. I just wanted to let you know, because it will cut into our weekend time.”

“I don’t mind go –”

“I will need someone to carry my bags,” she adds airily.

“I don’t mind going,” Will repeats. “Hey, do you think if it’s a boy we could repaint the nursery?”

“You hate the lavender?” Mackenzie asks warily. “You’ve brought it up three times now.”

“Blue for a boy,” Will gives a slight pout of his mouth.

“I thought you were ok with the lavender?”

He stares at her.

“Ok, fine, we can repaint. And by we, I mean you.” She pauses a second, pleased that she can give him something. She really doesn’t care about the lavender. “But if we have more kids later, and it’s a girl, then we might have to redecorate, _again._ ”

“Or just give her, her own room in the new house.”

Mackenzie smiles a little, and then: “What new house?”

“When we move,” Will says.

“McAvoy?” Ellen calls them. Mackenzie gives Will a frown, but stands and approaches the waiting technician, Will at her back. “Oh, nice to see you again,” she gives them warm smiles and they follow her through to an exam room. No getting changed for Mackenzie this time. She hops up on the narrow exam bed and Ellen asks her the standard questions about her name and address, checking she’s got the right person. Then she asks Mackenzie to move her clothes out of the way a little, raising her shirt and pushing her skirt down low to expose her pelvis and belly. The technician lays out protective tissue paper against Mackenzie’s clothes and then squirts conductive gel onto her stomach. It’s cold and Mackenzie flinches (notices the way her stomach doesn’t concave anymore). “Oh sorry, it’s a bit cold,” Ellen says belatedly.

Mackenzie gives a tight smile. She feels the brush of Will’s fingers on her forearm and looks over at him. He’s attentive to her and she gives him a better smile; reassuring. She moves her arm to take his hand, feeling a pang of nerves. The baby moves inside her, and she feels her heart rate go up with the anticipation. She honestly doesn’t mind if it’s a boy or a girl. And she honestly doesn’t mind knowing or not, though knowing would be nice. But now she’s not quite sure what Will wants. He says one thing, but looks so worried. And he _always_ does a million things _she_ wants to make her happy.

“Before we begin, are you ok with knowing the gender?” Ellen asks.

“Yes,” Mackenzie says hesitantly, and looks to her husband. He squeezes her hand reassuringly. “We want to know,” she adds, and Will doesn’t ease up on the pressure on her fingers.

Ellen is all set and places the transponder against Mackenzie’s belly, applying pressure that makes Mackenzie aware of her bladder, but in a second there’s their baby on the screen, lying on its back, wiggling around, looking so different from the last ultrasound. It’s bigger, that is immediately apparent, and so the definition of limbs and head, face, nose, ears, fingers, everything is so much clearer, and more normally proportionate (it doesn’t look like a large headed alien anymore). Mackenzie spots the placenta at the top of the image, a lighter mass of organ that’s still larger than the baby’s head (which puts those dimensions into some perspective). She finds it easily because it looks like the baby is sucking on the placenta.

“I’ll just take some measurements, make sure everything’s growing as it should,” Ellen says. “And then we’ll have a look to see if we can determine the sex.”

“What’s it doing there?” Will asks.

“Just hanging out,” Ellen muses, freezing the image and moving the mouse to put up tracing lines, measuring around the baby’s head.

“It looks like it’s sucking on the placenta,” Mackenzie clarifies, knowing exactly what Will’s asking, because she was thinking the same thing herself.

“It might be,” Ellen muses. She changes the angle of the Doppler a little and they get a clearer shot of the baby’s face. “But it probably just has its face in close.”

Mackenzie thinks ‘ _but won’t it suffocate?’_ but then, of course it wouldn’t, it’s not breathing air in there. Actually, she’s not sure it’s breathing anything just yet. At some point it will practice breathing by sucking amniotic fluid in and out of its lungs, but she doesn’t think that’s started yet (she knows it’s possible to see it during a later ultrasound, if they’re lucky). She’ll have to consult one of the books. Or ask Will. He’s trying to memorise them.

Ellen finishes with her measurements, let’s them know that everything seems normal, and moves the wand again, digging it in against Mackenzie’s belly (the pressure against her bladder becomes almost painful). The image swings wildly around and then settles to show the baby’s bottom, it’s feet up in the air. They can see clearly between its legs. Mackenzie clicks a second before Ellen makes any announcement and she turns to her husband, who is staring at the screen, looking mesmerised.

“It’s a boy,” she whispers.

 


	41. Chapter 41

It’s a boy.

It’s so clearly a boy.

Mackenzie is thrilled; grinning like crazy. She would have been thrilled with a girl too, but knowing the gender, knowing it’s a boy, makes her feel different. She feels excited and connected with the baby. It’s hard to explain, but it feels even more real now that she knows whether she’s having a son or a daughter. It is no longer an ‘it’, it’s a ‘he’ and he’s a boy, her son. She’s going to have a son.

Will is harder to read. He’s pretty quiet. Stunned maybe. But he doesn’t let go of her hand as Ellen points out the physical characteristics that make the baby a boy, and that everything looks great. She gives Mackenzie tissues to wipe off her stomach and does a print out for them of a nice silhouette. She’ll pass the results over to Mackenzie’s doctor, who might call her in the next few days. Other than that, that’s it. It seems too short. Mackenzie uses the bathroom before they go and checks her phone. There are a few messages, but no major disaster has struck while she was at her appointment. She heads out to find Will leaning against a wall, phone in hand. She watches him for a moment, but doesn’t detect any worry or stress in his face or shoulders, and she considers it a good thing that he’s still there, waiting for her, and hasn’t immediately bolted for the great wide yonder.

She knows how he feels about father and son relationships.

They go for lunch, but that doesn’t seem the right place to talk to him, and then of course, work is definitely _not_ the right place to talk about it (and they both get busy), so it’s not until they get home later that night and are alone that they can have a conversation about the fact that they’re having a son. Mackenzie drops to the couch, shifting down so she can rest her head against the arm, and hopes Will follows her. He does. He sits at the other end, picking up her legs to rest them in his lap. He looks over at her and she gives him a slight smile. “You better get picking paint colours then,” she starts, placing her hands over her belly, cupping the swell of the baby beneath her clothes.

Will gives a huff of a smile. “We don’t have to –”

“No,” Mackenzie cuts him off succinctly. “I agreed. We can repaint. Are you ok that it’s a boy?”

“Do I have a choice?” Will asks lightly. Mackenzie’s thinking of a response to that when he goes on. “I’m ok with it. Or I will be.” He gives her a careful expression, and she knows: him and his father. It pushes his buttons.

“You’re –” Mackenzie starts, but halts. She doesn’t want to accuse…

“I’m?” Will prompts.

“You haven’t said much about it,” she finishes meekly.

Will gives a half shrug and pout of his mouth. “You know me. I take a while to process.”

“I _do_ know you,” Mackenzie agrees. “And that is true.”

“I’ve been talking a lot about my Dad with Habib,” Will offers.

Mackenzie gives a tentative smile. “That’s great.” But she thinks ‘ _why won’t you talk to me about it?_ ’ “Is it helping?’

“I think so,” Will says thoughtfully. “I just want to make sure I get it all out before the baby comes, boy or girl.”

“Well, it’s a boy.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It’ll be good.”

Well, she guesses she has to take that. Like he said, they don’t get a choice about it now. And it’s not like he’s freaking out on her.

“Hey, uh,” Will shifts his weight to dig out his wallet from his back right pocket. “I asked Habib about a marriage counsellor.” He rifles through and produces a business card. He reaches it out to her, and she takes it, even though her heart beats with foreboding. She heard what he said about getting it right, about neither of them having particularly good role models, and about taking advantage of someone else’s expertise, and she agrees, but she still hears ‘you’re a failure’ when she hears ‘marriage counsellor’, and she feels bitter and strange about it. If Will just _tried_ … If he just… But she tries to keep that to herself (because honestly? She doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to make it better).

The name on the card is Dr Harley Johnson. He has a ton of letters after his name and the logo at the top is a blue butterfly. If that counts for anything.

“Have you called him?” Mackenzie asks neutrally. She gives the card back to Will.

“Not yet.”

“Well, set up an appointment and let me know when it is.”

Will puts the card back in his wallet and leans forward to put it on the coffee table. He curls his fingers around the bottom of her calf, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s Mackenzie’s tone that makes him get quiet. “You need anything?” He asks instead. “Something to eat before bed?”

Mackenzie shakes her head. “I’m not hungry. And I don’t need to be digesting anything all night.”

Will gives a nod. “When suits you for?” He gestures to this wallet on the coffee table.

It takes Mackenzie a moment to catch up with his train of thought. “Whenever,” she says simply.

“You don’t have meetings booked that I should take into account?” He asks carefully.

“Just, make a time Will and I’ll be there,” she says shortly. Will purses his lips and looks away. “I don’t see why you can’t just talk to me,” she blurts.

Will looks over at her. “We already discussed this. You agreed. We’re going to take advantage of someone else’s exp-”

“Not that,” Mackenzie grumps. “You never talk to me about your father, but you talk to Habib about it quite freely. I know he’s easy to talk to but am I so horrible you can’t talk to me?”

Will blinks at her for a second. “Of course I can talk to yo-”

“But you don’t.”

“You’ve had a lot going on recent-”

“Yeah maybe last month, but is this how it’s going to be? Habib’s going to be your confidant and I’m what to you?”

Will looks surprised for a second, then angry. “What do you –? You’re my wife! That’s everything to me. I don’t –”

“Well, we’re not having sex so –”

“Jesus!” Will exclaims loudly, throwing a hand up in disbelief. “Is everything about sex?”

“Well, we’re not!” Mackenzie shoots back. “And I like having sex. And I like having sex with you! So I’m just wondering where I stand in this. You talk to _everybody_ else but –”

“I don’t talk to _every_ body else.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t –” Will starts, his voice raised, and then he stops himself and Mackenzie waits, her heart beating faster, adrenaline lighting up her mind; she’s ready for him to deny it and for her to prove she’s right. She’s ready for the debate. He stares at her.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Mackenzie says sharply, hurt, but somewhat triumphant. “You’ll talk to a therapist, you’ll make me go to a marriage counsellor, but when it’s just us, suddenly you don’t have anything to say! This is a shitty way to have a marriage.” She folds her arms over her chest.

“That’s not fair,” Will shoots back.

“We need to be able to talk to each other.”

“I _know_ that,” Will says impatiently, but he hasn’t raised his voice. “I’m working really hard on not having a shitty marriage!”

“You spend all this time talking to Habib –”

“I can’t talk to you!” Will exclaims loudly, cutting her off and they blink at each other a moment, both surprised by his outburst. “No, I don’t mean that!” He adds quickly, eyes wide, hand tense on her leg. “That came out wrong. I mean, that I _can_ talk, I want to, talk to you, but I don’t – I can’t always find the right words.” He lets out a rush of a breath and relaxes his hand on her calf. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing to you and hurt you and I don’t – I _really_ don’t want to fight. I don’t want us to have screaming matches anymore.”

“We don’t always scream,” Mackenzie says, petulant in light of his even tone.

“I don’t want the difficult conversations to be yelled or for us to – say things in the heat of the moment we’ll regret. I know I’m good at that,” he implores with his eyes and gestures to his chest.

Mackenzie blinks and glances away a little. Well… so is she, to be fair. 

“Sometimes I don’t know what I want to say,” Will goes on. “I – it takes me time to figure out what I _really_ feel about something, instead of the first, heated reaction, and – the words don’t always come out right. Like now,” he adds.

“No, I –” Mackenzie starts to backtrack. Everything he’s talking about? She’s guilty of too. And she feels badly that she’s pushed him into talking right now, when he clearly struggles with it. It’s hard though, because she _needs_ answers, and she _wants_ him to talk, but she also doesn’t want to hurt him. She doesn’t want to make it uncomfortable for him, talking to her. She pauses. “I understand what you’re saying.”

“My father was so _very_ good at taking someone down verbally, and when that didn’t work, he used his fists, and I –” he hesitates again. He can’t look her in the eye, because he can be a verbal bully too sometimes. “I’m more like him than I care to be, so I’m just trying to not. That’s all. That’s pretty much all Habib and I talk about at the moment.” He looks over at her again.

“I don’t mean –” Mackenzie starts hesitantly.

“No, it’s – you’re right to ask. I don’t want there to be things we keep from each other.”

Mackenzie glances away again. They’ve done that before, and it didn’t work out very well. But then this status quo isn’t working out for her either.

“We’ve got a baby on the way, and we’re going to be tired, and stressed out once he’s here, and I don’t want us to bitch at each other.”

Mackenzie feels the need to pout. He’s not blaming her, but she knows very well that _she_ is _very good_ at bitching at _him_. “Me too,” she says meekly. “And I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“I don’t mean to shut you out,” Will offers sincerely. “I didn’t realise it was such a problem, but,” he reaches for her hand and she unfolds her arms to let him take it. “You can just talk to me about these things. Let me know that you need me to tell you something. You don’t have to pick a fight.”

“I wasn’t picking a _fight_ ,” Mackenzie gripes, immediately defensive. But oh, yes, she was. She really doesn’t have any idea how to do this any better. She sighs. Will watches her carefully, but he doesn’t counter what she’s said. She knows she’s wrong. It’s all over her face.

“Hang on, why did you say you know Habib is easy to talk to?” Will asks gently.

Mackenzie feels her heart palpitate in her throat. The phone call. “Uh, I just meant, you obviously – you’ve been seeing him for years.” She feels her face get hot and wonders if she’s blushing.

“On and off,” Will points out.

“So he must be easy to talk to if you keep going back.”

Will narrows his eyes so very slightly at her. How does he even know she’s hiding something?

“Ok, don’t be mad,” Mackenzie says, shifting to sit up a little higher.

“That’s not a good way to start,” Will says. He’s gotten very still, his gaze very intense on hers.

“I know, but, don’t – ok, I called Habib once. A month ago. Only because I was so _worried_ about you! And I just wanted to know how I could help you. It wasn’t behind your _back_ and I was just trying to find out – he didn’t _tell_ me anything. It was the first thing he said. He couldn’t – confidentiality – and that’s not why I called him _at all_ ,” Mackenzie stresses. “You had just told me you were _depressed_ and I got scared, so I _called_ him – he gave me some websites that I could – information about _how_ to help a spouse who was depressed, and I should have _told_ you about it at the _time_ , but I forgot, I guess, and I’m _sorry_ , Will. It wasn’t behind your back, I _swear_. I was just so worried about you, I just needed help.”

She stops and blinks at her husband and he watches her back, his face neutral, but she can see hints of pity in his eyes and she feels like she might cry.

“You feel like Habib is a third wheel in our marriage?” Will asks softly.

“No!” Mackenzie insists. “Of course not. He’s _helping_ you.”

“You could meet him some time.”

“I would never – I want you to be _happy_ Will. Whatever that takes.” She pauses.

“You make me happy,” Will says.

“What?”

“I said, you make me happy. And I want to have sex with you too.”

“No I meant – Really? You want to have sex with me?” Mackenzie asks sweetly, suddenly smiling.

“Of course,” Will says, like it’s a given.

“Right now?” She asks meekly.

“It’s midnight,” Will says softly, a slight shake of his head. “So I think we should go to bed to sleep.”

“Jesus,” Mackenzie curses quietly, looking at her watch. She should have gone to sleep at least an hour ago. She’s going to be so tired tomorrow. She starts to get off the couch, but Will blocks her way to the bedroom. He takes her hands.

“You could come to a session with me some time. With Habib. Or, meet me there so I can introduce you. I know you’re busy.”

“Seriously?” Mackenzie asks softly.

“Yeah,” Will nods. “Yeah, why not? I have nothing to hide.” He plants a kiss on her upturned mouth, and then holds on to her, making the kiss longer. “I love you,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Mm,” Mackenzie agrees, sinking against him a little.

“Let’s go to bed,” Will pulls back. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Mackenzie agrees.

“Another reason we’re having problems talking.” He takes her hand and guides her to the bedroom.

“So you’re saying we’re not talking because I go to bed early?” Mackenzie asks, trying not to sound defensive, but not able to let that comment pass by unchallenged.

Will turns to her at the closet door. “No,” he says carefully. “You should sleep. Taking care of you and the baby has to be a priority.”

Mackenzie goes to the bathroom and puts the light on, but she stops in the doorway to talk to him. “Well, it’s not helping.”

“I don’t have a problem –” Will stops speaking and approaches where she’s standing. “That’s not an issue for me,” he says, eyes all wide and genuine. “I know that you need to sleep. I’m ok with that.”

But Mackenzie wasn’t talking about him. “I’m the one who wants to talk, and yet I’m the one But Mackenzie wasn’t talking about him. “I’m the one who wants to talk, and yet I’m the one going to bed early,” she points out.

“Because you’re growing another person, and because you get up early in the morning.”

“So when do we talk?”

“On the – do we have to schedule a time?” Will asks lightly.

“No,” Mackenzie concedes, with a hint of a laugh. How funny would it be if they scheduled time to talk like they were in therapy with each other? Or is that what marriage counselling is? “I guess… that would be weird.”

Will gives a slight laugh. “Maybe a little.”

Mackenzie looks up at him, smiling, because she’s amused, not because they’ve managed to find a resolution. “Maybe.” She sighs. “Maybe we put too much pressure on it? Maybe the marriage counsellor will help. Because we don’t seem to be able to figure this out ourselves.”

“Maybe,” Will agrees, eyebrows up, open, but waiting on her, to see what she says next. Mackenzie turns away to use the bathroom, saying nothing. Not sure what to say. They take turns brushing teeth, and changing. Mackenzie slips into bed, her eyes gritty with fatigue (how did she let it get so late?), and snuggles down against her pillow. Eyes closed, she hears Will come into the room and flip out the light. After a beat, she feels the pressure of him getting into bed with her. He stays on his side, but when she reaches out her hand he takes it and she draws him a little closer, curving his hand over the swell of their baby. Their baby boy.

“Is it _completely_ typical that the baby is a boy, even though we already _totally_ agreed on a girl’s name?”

She hears Will give a little huff of a chuckle, then he bumps his forehead into her nose, making her laugh while he tries to find her mouth. She reaches up with her hand to guide him by his chin. He gives her a quick kiss. “Goodnight,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight,” she echoes.

 


	42. Chapter 42

_August 23 rd 2013_

_Friday_

 

She doesn’t sleep well.

She can’t switch her mind off.

 _I really don’t want to fight_ , rolls through her mind, and her dreams are shallow and filled with ‘you don’t have to pick a fight’, even when she’s waist deep in water on that fucking boat and she’s frustratingly just trying to ask the man standing opposite her to bail. Of course, when she goes to bail herself, she can’t find her bucket, her arms won’t cooperate, something else goes wrong. The water creeps higher and higher, and she’s gasping for air. Struggling to just keep her head above the water.

I really don’t want to fight.

Neither does she, but it’s becoming clearer and clearer that she doesn’t know how else to be. She’s used to having to convince someone, of having to defend herself; she’s used to having to think quickly, under pressure, to find the best outcome. But she doesn’t know how to have careful conversations about tough issues without ploughing through it recklessly. She’s not sure she knows how to take into consideration Will’s feelings. When she told him about Brian it was an absolute disaster. When she told him about the stabbing in Fallujah, it was pretty detached.

Holy cow, have things gotten so bad?

She feels suddenly so out of her depth. She’s laying there, next to a man, who is trying so hard, who is doing all these things that are really difficult, to make sure he’s going to be a good father and a good husband and she’s done nothing. And she feels helpless, because she doesn’t know the things that are going to make this better, or good. She doesn’t know where to start and she doesn’t understand how they don’t seem to quite fit back together again. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. They were both aware that they couldn’t just pick things up from where they left off. But now she wonders if they’ve picked anything up at all.

She ruined everything when she was with Brian.

(Or was it that she ruined everything when she _told_ Will about Brian.)

It makes her feel sick to think about it. She’s pregnant now with Will’s baby and in five months the baby will be here. Will’s right. It’s going to be hard, and she knows that, but now she thinks: _what if they’re not getting along_. He’s so right, they have a penchant for bitching at each other, and it’s not always fun bickering, or just a good debate. They’ve been sniping, and picking at each other, dealing with things separately, like they’re not even a couple, like they’re not even supposed to be sharing, in partnership.

_You don’t have to pick a fight._

She didn’t know she was. But now she does and she dreams she’s screaming into a hurricane, that suffocates her. She flinches awake and feels Will next to her in bed, but he seems so far away. She tries to sleep again but can’t manage it, and tosses and turns. And then she’s being nudged awake, her name on repeat. She wakes with her heart pounding, confused about where her dream ends and reality begins.

“Honey, you’re alarm was going off.”

But the room is silent and she can’t understand. “What’s happening?” She grits out, trying to force her eyes open, but they feel like they’re glued.

“Your alarm was going off,” Will repeats. “It’s time to get ready for work.”

It’s not Saturday?

“I have to go to work,” Mackenzie murmurs inanely. She reaches for her phone, lighting up the screen to see the time. She needs to get out of bed. Still blinking heavily to try and keep her eyes open, she swings her legs slowly to the side of the mattress. When she stands, she struggles to keep her balance.

“Are you awake?” Will asks from behind her.

“Last night?” Mackenzie turns towards him sharply.

“We’re fine,” Will moves forward so he’s kneeling on the mattress in front of her. He puts his large hands on her hips, steadying her. “We’re just working through things, that’s all. It’ll take time to figure that out.”

She nods, but she doesn’t think that’s what she needed to hear; she thinks she might have been about to apologise for starting a fight in the first place. It’s nice though, and a good point. It’s taken him years of dealing with his childhood to get to this point. Anything they need to deal with between them isn’t going to happen overnight either. She steps back and heads for the bathroom, but when she gets there she’s not sure what she’s doing. She starts with brushing her teeth. Then uses the loo. Then showers (completely out of her usual order). She stands under the water, trying not to get her hair wet so she doesn’t have to bother drying it again, flashes of her dreams this morning passing through her mind again. That horrid feeling of futility, trying to be heard in a raging storm.

Her eyes keep wanting to close and she’s craving coffee hard. The hardest since she’s been pregnant. She’s not missed it, the last month or so, but this morning, god she needs coffee. She finds Will at the breakfast bar, with a cup, and she can see the pot is empty; he’s made just enough for him (which flares anger in her for a second, until she rationally tells herself that she hasn’t been drinking coffee since she found out she was pregnant, so she needs to just chill). She takes his drink. “I thought you’d be asleep about now,” she takes a mouthful, gives it back, and slips into her shoes, shooting up a few inches.

Will looks haggard; he can no longer get away with little sleep. He takes his mug back from her and looks up with wary blue eyes. “I felt the need to make sure you get out the door.”

Mackenzie stares at him a moment. “You’re trying to get rid of me?” Her tone is flat, but not because she’s offended, she’s just so fucking tired.

“Trying to help you,” Will says instead. “One of us should be awake.”

Mackenzie reaches out a hand and smooths it down the rough of his cheek. “Want to cover for me with Pruit while I nap for another three hours?”

Will gives a snort. “I’m not Pruit’s favourite person.”

“No one is,” Mackenzie frowns. “I wonder who…” Does he date? Live with somebody? She hardly knows a thing about him.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Will offers half-heartedly.

Mackenzie lets her hand drop to his shoulder, applying pressure to keep him in place. “I’m just going to grab some fruit.” She goes to the fridge and takes out a banana and an apple, and some yoghurt (where do these things come from?). “Why aren’t you Pruit’s favourite person?”

Will gives a shrug. “We’ve hardly had a conversation. I get the impression he doesn’t like me much.”

Mackenzie’s brain is too foggy to work it out. It’s too foggy to work out how much sleep she’s had (if she had gone to sleep straight away, and stayed asleep, she would have gotten six. But it took her too long to get to sleep and she kept waking. She’s had a broken three). “I think I need to leave,” she says. And then looks at the time. Yeah, she does.

Will slides from the breakfast bar stool, the left leg of his boxer shorts caught in the crease of his thigh. Not much is left to the imagination with that look and Mackenzie can’t help but stare. Will doesn’t seem to notice. He walks towards her and gives her a hug. She presses her nose into his shoulder, breathes in the sleepy comforting smell of him and makes the mistake of her closing her eyes. When he pulls back she can’t open them again. “Are you awake?” Will asks again and she nods, cracks her lids open. She doesn’t think she put make up on. She can’t remember. “Are you sure you should go to work? Maybe you should go to bed. I’ll call Millie, tell her you’re feeling sick. Buy you a few hours.”

“So good,” Mackenzie murmurs. “But I can’t this morning. Meeting and later…”

Are her eyes open?

“Here,” Will nudges something into her hand. Mackenzie looks down at his coffee cup. She takes another mouthful. “Please don’t operate any heavy machinery until you wake up properly.”

“I won’t,” Mackenzie agrees. Will walks her to the door. Has to hand her, her bag and keys. He asks her if he should come with her, escort her all the way to her office door but she brushes him off gently. She can manage, she really can. She’s functioned on less. Neither of them point out that that was at a time when she wasn’t pregnant (she wonders if she can do this). She presses a sloppy kiss to his mouth before she goes out the door and starts eating her breakfast in the elevator. So she doesn’t close her eyes again.

 

**********

 

After Mackenzie leaves, Will makes himself eggs for breakfast and squares away the kitchen. He has a shower and shaves and then calls Johnson’s office and makes an appointment for him and Mackenzie. It’s going to be nearly two weeks before they can get in, which is a good sign to Will; the man is popular, therefore, he must be good at his job. It was the same with Abraham Habib when he first started going to therapy. He texts Mackenzie that he made an appointment but she doesn’t answer him (and he refuses to think that that’s an indication of her interest in going to therapy, and is more a reflection on how busy her day is). With the rest of his morning, he looks at virtual colour swatches for the nursery. He doesn’t think it should be hard. Blue for a boy. But when he starts looking he finds that there isn’t just ‘sky blue’. There’s at least ten shades of it that look exactly the same, but are apparently different.

He’s a little nervous about picking a colour now. He doesn’t want to get it wrong (otherwise known as: picking a colour Mackenzie hates), and he can’t say he has an eye for those kinds of things. Mackenzie spent forever picking out colours for the entire apartment. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted on repainting the nursery. Maybe, he should just ask her for help. Or, he could just hire someone to do it for him. Although, he should probably run that by his wife first too, seeing as she has an aversion to paying people to do things for her (but what’s the point in having money if he doesn’t spend it?)

Will arrives at the office and finds everything already in full swing. He checks his watch; oops he’s ten minutes late. “Intern!” He yells at the edge of the bullpen, a few people glance over at him, but most ignore him (or don’t even hear him), and a young male face pops up over the edge of a computer, like a Meer cat checking the coast is clear before emerging from the safety of the nest. The young face attaches to a skinny body, which scurries towards him. “Any messages?” Will asks the kid whose name he can’t remember, while looking up at the screens broadcasting other news stations. Two of them are playing ads and the other is showing the weather. Thrilling.

“Ah, no sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” Will immediately corrects, looking down into green eyes. “You call me Will.”

Or Mr McAvo – no, Will is fine. Mr McAvoy is his father.

“Uh, ok,” the kid says, unsure.

“So no messages?” Will reiterates. The kid shakes his head. “Thanks,” Will says to him and goes back to the bank of elevators. He goes up to the twenty-first floor and strides along to his wife’s office, assuming she made it to work ok and didn’t fall asleep while walking upstairs or something. He pulls his blackberry, suddenly remember he text her a while ago, but no, there’s no reply from her. For a second, he actually worries that something _has_ happened to her, but surely someone would have called him by now if that were true. He rounds the corner and sees through her glass office walls that she’s at her desk. She’s on the phone, and as he gets closer he can see she’s actually having what looks like a heated discussion. Will slows and hesitates. Millie isn’t at her desk. Mackenzie slams her phone down and Will takes that as his cue to go on in.

Mackenzie looks up at him as he enters, then gives him a tentative smile. “Hi,” she greets, her voice particularly husky. Probably because she’s stressed.

“Hi,” Will echoes. He takes a seat opposite her desk. She looks tired. She looks _really_ tired.

“What’s new?” Mackenzie asks him softly, her fingers fluttering over the desk blotter.

“I was ten minutes late,” Will announces.

“I’ll dock it from your pay,” Mackenzie responds flatly.

Will takes in the slightly messy ponytail, the (total?) lack of make-up, and her glum demeanour. “Did you get my text?” He asks lightly.

“Yes,” Mackenzie stares at him a moment. And then she starts crying.


	43. Chapter 43

Will gets out of his chair immediately and quickly gets around the semi-circle curve of her desk. He turns her chair to face him, so her back is to the glass walls. “Honey? What happened?” He asks gently, crouching in front of her.

Mackenzie shakes her head, making a little high pitched noise, and puts her hands over her face.

“Are you ok? Is the baby ok?” Will asks, getting somewhat more desperate.

Mackenzie nods her head and wipes her cheeks with her fingers as she withdraws them. Her eyes are still full with tears but she’s trying to swallow them down and her cheeks are dusted with red with the effort of it. “The baby’s fine,” she says, attempting a shaky smile. She sucks in a breath and holds it a second, trying to regain control of herself. “It’s just hormones.”

But Will smells bullshit.

“What happened?” He asks once more. She kind of looks cute when she’s crying.

Mackenzie shakes her head again and wipes at more tears that keep spilling, despite her attempts to breathe through them. Will stays where he is, even though his thighs are starting to burn, squatting in front of her, his hands holding onto the armrests of her chair, framing her within it. Nowhere to go, no way to avoid him. Mackenzie shakes the hair from her eyes and attempts another watery smile and then confesses, “I slept terribly last night. I think I’m over tired.”

“You should go home early tonight,” Will automatically suggests.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” she says with a sigh.

Will stays where he is though. “Is that all?” He asks carefully.

“Oh you know, hormones and Pruit, of course, and I’ve got Josh Minahan calling me about Jane Barrow –”

“What about Jane?” Will asks with a frown. This is the first he’s hearing of anything to do with her. He knows she can be a handful, and that she’s hyper-ambitious – oh, that’s probably it. Especially when she senses weakness in others. Does she think Mackenzie’s weak? Because Will thinks she’s one of the strongest people he’s ever met. Ever.

“Nothing,” Mackenzie shakes her head again.

“Charlie had trouble with her too, when her boots got too big,” Will offers.

Mackenzie blinks at him a second, “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish he was here. I could do with his help,” Mackenzie’s voice cracks and more tears spill. Will reaches up to brush them away and Mackenzie’s eyelids flutter at his touch. It makes him feel suddenly warm and he really wants to kiss her, but doesn’t think he should. They’re at work. Work is for work. Or hug her. Maybe a hug would be more appropriate and less frowned upon. But mostly, he wants to kiss her and make her feel good, and know that he loves her.

Mackenzie gives another shake of her head, her way of trying to dismiss her troubles, not him, but it does dislodge his hand and so he drops it to her lap, where her fingers are fretting each other. He encompasses them in his, stilling them. “You can handle Barrow,” Will tells her. “She’s all bluster and she’s replaceable.”

Mackenzie gives a huff of a bitter laugh, “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Then why let her get to you?” Will asks and then says ‘hormones’ at the same time Mackenzie does and he nods. Ok, he gets it. Maybe the tears aren’t a signal that the world is ending, but just that her natural defence system is somewhat depleted while she grows another person. And didn’t get enough sleep last night.

“I’m ok,” Mackenzie announces, wiping one more tear. She shakes her hair back and tilts up her chin, defiant and fierce again and Will finally stands, his legs on fire. He has to shake them out, help the blood flow return and it makes Mackenzie laugh a little. “You should hit the gym.”

Will gives her a disparaging expression.

“Or come to yoga with me and Sloan.”

“Isn’t that a woman thing?” He paces her office a little to get the pain in his legs to subside. He notices there are still boxes stacked in the corner, the shelves are a little bare and almost nothing has changed since Charlie was here.

“No, it’s not a _woman_ thing,” Mackenzie frowns at him. “Anyone can do yoga. Plenty of guys do yoga. It’d be good for you and your aging body.”

Will gives her another weary expression. “Am I going to be the only guy in the class?”

“Maybe,” Mackenzie says loftily, which means ‘yes’.

“It’s your thing with Sloan,” Will says and comes to sit opposite her desk again, in chairs Charlie used to have.

“She won’t mind.”

“When else are you going to be able to talk about me?” He asks, with eyebrows raised. For a second, Mackenzie looks like she’s been caught in headlights, and she pretends to check something on her desk before answering that she doesn’t talk about him. Will smiles but she doesn’t see it. “Everyone needs someone to talk to,” Will says, but now that he thinks about it, if she can’t/won’t/doesn’t talk to him about him, then who does she talk to? He talks to Habib, about her, and other things that he can’t/won’t/doesn’t talk to her about.

_I just needed help._

Maybe Mackenzie needs someone to talk to. Living with him isn’t easy, he knows that. And he’s been closed off while he’s been dealing with his depression and Charlie’s death. Will suddenly feels hot and uncomfortable, a signal to him that he’s stumbled onto something that is pushing a few buttons. He’s learning to recognise his feelings, but he still doesn’t always know what to do with them, or what they mean.

“You should redecorate,” Will says. Makenzie gives him a slight frown. “Make this office yours,” he adds.

Mackenzie looks around. “I didn’t think…”

“Or unpack,” Will gestures to the boxes behind his shoulder.

Mackenzie gives an unimpressed expression herself, but it’s not directed at him. “I don’t have time.”

Will doesn’t like that answer. ‘ _Make time_ ,’ he thinks but he’s learnt enough from therapy by now to not pick a fight with her in the middle of the day, at work, and when she’s upset. That’s a combination for disaster. Plus, and this he figured out a while ago (but it has been reiterated to him just now), if everyone else is against her, and her own husband starts in, she’s going to feel like the world is against her. He’s here to assist in bailing the boat, not help swamp it.

Will slaps his hands to his knees and leans forward. “So you’re ok?” He still wants to hug her.

Mackenzie gives him a slight smile, one that makes her dark eyes glitter. “Yes,” she says sweetly. “I’m ok.”

“Ok, then I’m going to go and work,” Will says, standing.

“Could you?” Mackenzie attempts a joke, even if her tone falls flat, so Will rewards her with a smile anyway and heads for the door.

He goes down to his office, pushes the door shut, and then googles ‘spouses of depressed people’ himself to find out just what kind of advice Mackenzie got. He reads a lot of stories about husbands who refuse to get help, who don’t recognise they have a problem, and who really drag their families through hell. He didn’t think he was that bad, but maybe? Most of the advice is about getting the husband into therapy, but he’s already doing that. However, he finds a lot of testimonials from wives who talk about how the depression has impacted them, how they feel about having a husband who isn’t happy and how they feel responsible and want to ‘fix’ him. It brings a sinking feeling to Will’s heart, because his depression is absolutely not Mackenzie’s fault, and he thought she knew that.

_I just needed help._

He _has_ shut her out though. Not deliberately, but he does tend to withdraw into himself and so yeah, he gets why she picks at him. It’s the only way she gets him to open up; baits him into reacting. So that’s on him and he hates that she has to do these things because he’s so difficult. Will reads through one other thing he starts to feel is vitally important: many wives see a counsellor of their own. They’re susceptible to depression too. Sure, he and Mackenzie don’t have kids (yet) and so there’s not the same pressures of family these women are talking about, but Mackenzie is pregnant. And she was up in her office crying just a moment ago. Will doesn’t know if that’s a regular occurrence, or whether it’s just today in particular that’s being a real bitch, but knowing his wife is upset breaks his heart a little. And knowing that he’s contributed to it in some way is worse. The last thing he wants to do is make his wife’s life miserable.

Will closes down the web browser and leans back in his chair, staring at the opposite wall for a moment. What to do? Can’t take her home and wrap her in bubble wrap until this is all over (certainly can’t imply that she’s not coping). But he can make her do nothing on the weekend but relax. No paint swatches, no work, no emails, no calls, no shopping, no – they should go away for the weekend. No distractions, no one around, just them, on a beach maybe – there’s nothing more relaxing than a beach right? Mackenzie loves the beach, loves to laze in the sun, maybe a little swimming. No hiking or skiing or parasailing.

This is sounding like an amazing idea.

Will brings up his web browser again.

 


	44. Chapter 44

Mackenzie scuffs into Will’s office just after six thirty, looking thoroughly beaten down. He’s at his desk, pounding away at the keyboard, but when she comes in, he gets up quickly. “Are you busy?” She asks glumly.

“No,” Will rounds his desk and presses a kiss to her head. Mackenzie wraps her arms around his waist so he presses her tightly against his chest and rests his cheek against her hair. They stand for long seconds and he wonders if she’s crying again. But she pulls back after a moment and thanks him. “I needed that,” she says. He guides her to sit at the table opposite the windows.

“Sorry I’m so late – did you wait for me?” She asks, surprised, when she sees their dinner untouched and waiting for her.

“Yeah,” Will sits and starts handing her takeout containers. She likes the Thai place a few doors down, and luckily for today and their dinner, it’s not so bad to eat when it’s getting cold.

“You should have eaten,” Mackenzie says in a way that has Will looking up to check to see if she’s crying. She looks a little teary.

“No, honey, we said we’d eat together.”

“I got caught up –”

“That’s ok,” he tells her gently. He’s starving. And he hasn’t finished writing his copy. He unfortunately spent too much time researching today and was really very distracted, so it’s been a blessing in disguise, her coming down for dinner a little bit later than usual. “Let’s eat now. Want to tell me about your day?”

“No,” Mackenzie says tensely. “Let’s not talk about my day. Tell me about your day.”

Will looks over at her, but she’s started on eating, and he can’t read her face. “Ah, actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” When Mackenzie looks up at him, she’s wary. “It’s good,” he tries to entice but her expression doesn’t change. “I booked us at the Avenue Inn in Rehoboth beach in Delaware.” Mackenzie’s eyes go wide. “Just for the weekend,” Will adds hurriedly. “We can drive down after the show tonight, head back late on Sunday. I rented a car. So we can do whatever you want. Lie on the beach. Walk on the beach. Ignore the beach and stay in our room all weekend. It has a spa, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, sauna. Whatever you want. And I know you don’t like spontaneity much, but you need this. We need this,” he adds. “We need to get away for a while. Get out of the city. We haven’t been on our honeymoon yet,” he gives a pout of his mouth to show it’s not a big deal, when really, it is.

Mackenzie blinks at him.

“You can go home and pack, if you want, or, I know you keep a bag of clothes in your office, and we can just go, right after broadcast.” He finally runs out of things to say (he’s kept the next level of convincing for if she says ‘no’) and watches her, inviting her to pass comment on his grand (petite) plan. He suddenly feels nervous.

“Billy,” Mackenzie starts, staring back at him. Then her expression softens immeasurably, “That _sounds_ wonderful. I’d _love_ to run away with you.” She smiles at him, and Will returns it, and then tears well up in her eyes. Will goes to panic mode and shuffles his chair forward so he can reach her, half pulling her against him, but really just wanting to get an arm around her. It’s after six, surely it’s safe enough for hugs and kisses now?

“What happened today?” Will asks again, concerned, trying not to flip out entirely, but starting to feel like something momentous has gone down.

“Honestly _nothing_ ,” Mackenzie says, wiping her cheeks. “I’m just _really_ so tired. And I don’t seem to be able to _stop_ crying.” She leans her head against his shoulder. The arm of the chair Will’s sitting in is digging into his side painfully, but he stays the course.

“I’m sorry,” Will murmurs.

“What for?”

“Keeping you up too late last night.”

_And a million other things I don’t seem to be able to get right._

Mackenzie gives a slight laugh. “I think I did that to myself.”

‘ _Hm_ ,’ Will thinks but he’s not going to say that out loud. Yes, she should have gone to bed a lot sooner, but he also didn’t have to make her feel like the only way she could have a conversation with him is to pick a fight at ten thirty on a Thursday night when she’s four months pregnant. He resolves to try harder, but he’s also been doing that for the last two months and doesn’t seem to be able to manage it. He feels a wave of hopelessness starting to threaten and tries to ignore it. Just because things aren’t working out how he wants them to right now, doesn’t mean he should give up on it altogether.

“Let’s eat,” Mackenzie pulls away from him. “You’ve got less than two hours until air and I know you haven’t finished your copy.”

“How do you know that?” Will asks, a little surprised.

“Franklin’s working up the courage to come and ask you for it.”

“Who the fuck is Franklin?”

Mackenzie looks over at him with a slight smile. “Franklin the intern,” her eyebrows go up fractionally. “I told him you’d be done as soon as we eat.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, starting on his dinner again, colder than before. Perhaps not that pleasant after all. They could stop for burgers later, on their way to Delaware (he feels a little thrill of excitement! She agreed to go away with him). Is Franklin the skinny kid?

“Did you do any work today or did you plan our trip to Re – Where?”

“Rehoboth beach.”

“What’s wrong with the Hamptons?” Mackenzie asks sweetly.

“At this time of year?” Will gives her a slight wince. “Everything was booked out. And yes I worked, I did a lot of research,” he adds, which is not a lie at all, because he did. He just didn’t research much of anything for the show.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie goes home to pack while Will finishes his copy and gets ready for the show. He thinks it takes away some of the romanticism of just taking off for the weekend straight after broadcast, but while she has a bag of clothes packed for any moment, he does not. And he’s not above buying clothes while they’re in Delaware, and a toothbrush and razor, but he does need his anti-depressant medication, and if she’s going to go home to get that for him, well then she may as well pack him a bag too.

Broadcast is smooth, Syria and the UN are in negotiations to let chemical weapons inspectors into the sites that were hit earlier in the week; Will kind of daydreams his way through it, though it still makes his heart pound to go live every night. He checks his phone in the breaks but there are no messages from Mackenzie, and aside from requesting his medication, razor and toothbrush, he didn’t really give her specific instructions for what he wanted for the weekend away. She also doesn’t say whether she’s still at the apartment, or whether she’s come back to work.

Still, it’s fun to sneak away.

Mackenzie comes back to work. She’s waiting for him in his office. She’s not even working, she’s actually just waiting on him. In reality, she’s asleep in his chair, but as soon as he comes in she opens her eyes and gives him a sleepy smile. “Good show tonight Billy.”

“Did you see some of it?” He teases, tossing his tie to his desktop. He starts shirking out of his suit jacket as he walks around his desk to the bathroom to finish changing.

“I used to get three hours sleep a night in the Middle East,” Mackenzie muses from his desk. Will’s left the bathroom door open so he can hear her. He quickly unbuttons his shirt enough to tug off over his head. “And I don’t remember being as tired as I am now,” Mackenzie finishes.

“Well, you’re growing another person. That’s different,” Will offers, pulling his own grey t-shirt on, and starting on his pants. He’s not sure if Mackenzie answers him. He thinks he hears her say something else, but he doesn’t make out the words. He tugs his jeans up and tucks down his boxers before doing up the zip and button. He grabs his suit and heads back into the other room, half expecting to see Mackenzie fallen asleep again. She’s staring at the opposite wall.

“Wow, you changed fast,” she says, looking up at him.

Will dumps his suit on the table opposite his desk and has a sudden strange urge to smoke. Or at least do something with his hands. “But it’s not the fastest you’ve seen me take my pants off,” he says to his wife, going back to the bathroom to put the light out, just so he has something to do.

“That’s true,” Mackenzie smirks and Will grins. He reaches out a hand to her and she pushes out of his office chair.

“I have somewhere to be,” he says, explaining his Olympic effort in dressing, guiding her to the door, picking up the black bag that’s appeared on one of his spare office chairs, that he assumes is their luggage. They say goodnight to the straggling staff and exchange wishes for good weekends. They ride down with Tess and some guy Will doesn’t know. Mackenzie leans her head on his shoulder and if they were alone he’d take her up in a full body embrace.

They pass through security as a group but say goodbye to Tess and what’s-his-name on the street. Will can feel Mackenzie hesitate next to him but he moves forward to the waiting black BMW 740i at the curb; a very beautiful car. Mackenzie stops while Will produces the key and uses it to pop open the trunk.

“Ok, so when you said we were going to drive down?”

Will puts their bag in the back and then comes around to open the door for her (he likes that she waited for him to do so).

“The car’s for you huh?” She says, looking amused. Tired, but amused. Will gives her a little shrug. Oh yeah, the car is for him. A three litre, super car limousine? Fuck yeah. A Ferrari or Lamborghini would have also been very cool, but this will do on short notice.

Mackenzie gets in and Will pops her door closed. He goes around the vehicle and slides into the driver’s seat. It has a new car smell and the interior is perfectly maintained. Will starts the engine with the smart key and it roars to life. He grins. Can’t help it. He doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to even drive, let alone drive a top of the line vehicle. Sure, he could buy himself that Ferrari or Lamborghini, and sure, he could probably make excuses to take it out for a spin, but it’s New York. He’d be risking the paint work. And where would they put a child restraint?

Actually, maybe it’d be worth investing in a place in the Hamptons. They could take the kid out to the beach on the weekends. He might like that. Mackenzie might like that. But Will would have to talk to her about it first; no impulse decision making. That was the deal. Aside from this weekend.

Will puts his seatbelt on and looks over at his wife, who is watching him, a tired smile on her face. She’s got her seatbelt on and is merely waiting on him. “Are you comfortable?” Will asks. “You can adjust the seat horizontal and go back to sleep if you want.”

“I could keep you company,” she counters.

“Sure,” Will agrees, and though that’s a nice thought, he’s also concerned about the lack of sleep she’s received. He puts the car into drive, checks his blind spot, signals and moves out into traffic, heading west, across the island, until he can head south on the 95. He concentrates on driving, traffic and finding his exit, so when they head out into a bit more open space he glances over to find Mackenzie asleep next to him, head slouched to the side and hands limp in her lap. He reaches over and takes one, feels the faint pressure of her fingers gripping his. Will concentrates on the road before him and the feel and speed of the car beneath him. He vows to his wife and the windscreen that he’s going to do better.

He just fucking has to.

 


	45. Chapter 45

Mackenzie sleeps the whole way, and they arrive thirty minutes after midnight, with Will feeling sleepy himself, but totally loving that car. He booked a place with a twenty-four hour front desk and valet parking and tips generously for the inconvenience of having to look after them at a shitty time of the night. The Avenue Inn is decorated in a modern, luxurious, but simple, beach theme. Fresh whites, vivid reds, sky blues, and earthen tones in the cushions on the bleached, cane furniture, and wooden floor. Their room is a sky blue and there’s a large spa in the bathroom. Will’s carried their one shared bag up to the top floor himself. From the large glass doors that lead out to a private balcony, he can see the lights of the township on the left, and the massive black expanse of the ocean on the right. They’re a block from the beach, but he can still see the white caps of the water breaking near the shore.

Mackenzie emerges from the bathroom and gives him a slight smile. “This is great.”

Will goes to her, putting his hands on her elbows. She moves her hands to grip his biceps. “You ok?” He asks, almost out of habit, but stops to correct himself, because he knows it annoys her. “I mean, you want anything, or do you just want to go to sleep? It’s pretty late.”

“I think I dozed in the car,” she says, stepping around him to go to the bag. That would be an understatement. He doesn’t know if she’s joking, but he doesn’t correct her. “What about you?”

“No, I didn’t sleep,” Will interjects.

“You must be tired,” Mackenzie finishes, and gives him an unimpressed expression. That was not what she was asking, and he knows it.

“I am,” Will agrees, sitting on the edge of the king bed to undo his shoes. Mackenzie strips off in front of him. She drops every stich she’s wearing, aside from her underwear, to the floor at her feet. Right in front of him. Will stops what he’s doing to stare, his groin starting a noticeable throb. She looks so gorgeous. Aside from her massive breasts, the slight swell of the baby and the curve of her waist have Will holding his breath a little. He hasn’t stopped to notice her in a while, to his shame.

Mackenzie takes a tee from the bag and pulls it over her head, then she turns to him with a frown. “I think this is yours.” She whips it off over her head again, giving him a full frontal view of all her amazing glory, then tosses the shirt in his face. It drops to his lap. She’s already pulling another shirt, a similar shade of blue (but with a kitten on the front playing with a ball of yarn), from the bag. She slips it on as she heads for the bathroom with a toiletries bag.

When she leaves the room, Will snaps out of it. He finishes undressing himself, and puts the shirt on that she threw at him a moment ago. He folds up his clothes and leaves them on one of the arm chairs opposite the balcony doors. Then he picks up Mackenzie’s work clothes (he doesn’t sniff them, but they smell like her, and that tempts him to sniff them) and lays them over the same chair carefully, so they don’t wrinkle. He hunts around in the bag for his toothbrush but can’t find it. He finds both their underwear, and other clothes, that are rolled up into cylinders, and stacked, with the larger items on the bottom, smaller on top, almost creating a pyramid. She spent too much time with the military.

He goes to the bathroom. “Have you got my tooth –” He stops when he sees it on the counter. Mackenzie is brushing her teeth and gives him wide eyes. So they’re sharing a toiletries bag too. It feels kind of nice. It feels together-y, couple-ish. Mackenzie gestures to his toothbrush and he steps in to use it. Mackenzie finishes and leaves and when he’s done, he finds her in bed, eyes closed. He pops out the light and moves around the room carefully to get into bed next to her. He settles quickly, so he doesn’t disturb her, but as soon as he stops moving she draws out an arm and drops it against the cover, creating a huff of air. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Will answers, amused; he literally just got into bed.

“Me too.”

Really?

“I actually feel really awake,” Mackenzie says, turning over to face him, leaning on her elbow. “Are you awake?”

“Sure,” Will answers.

“I don’t think I can sleep just yet. Want to do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, which results in an almost full body manoeuvre, seeing as she’s leaning on her shoulder. “Probably too late for a walk on the beach.”

“Probably,” Will agrees. He moves so he’s mirroring her position, leaning on his elbow. The curtains are wide open and the moon comes through to illuminate his wife, so he can see her relatively clearly, even as his eyes are still adjusting to the lack of light. He shifts a little closer to her.

“We could watch TV,” Mackenzie says.

“That’s probably not going to help us get to sleep though,” Will points out.

“Sure,” Mackenzie agrees.

“I can think of something.”

“Yeah?” She asks neutrally.

“Yeah,” Will murmurs, leaning towards her. He presses his mouth against hers and feels her smile. He reaches up his left hand and slides it into her hair, holding her in place and kissing her a little deeper. Mackenzie gives a happy hum and kisses him back. She slips him a little tongue and he completely opens up to her. She makes the kisses hotter and heavier and he doesn’t resist her, doesn’t shut it down or beg off, so Mackenzie takes a punt and lays back against the bed. Will goes with her.

“Don’t tease me,” she whispers as he presses his mouth to her neck. She feels the brush of his chest against hers. “I mean, you can _tease_ me, but don’t tease me,” Mackenzie clarifies, carding her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull, where it’s softest.

“I’m not teasing,” Will shifts to kiss her mouth, deep and soft, making her cheeks warm. Mackenzie shifts her hips beneath him, wiggling to get a better position. Will doesn’t let up on her mouth and she can feel her toes tingling.

“Will, about the baby,” Mackenzie murmurs against his mouth.

“Hm?” He pulls back, holding his weight above her on his hands. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, everything ok with you?”

“Yeah.”

Mackenzie looks up at him, his face shaded in the moonlight. He leans down to kiss her again. She wraps her arms around his neck, pushing up with her chest to press against him. So, the baby’s not freaking him out anymore? That’s good. She’ll take that.

“Will?”

“Stop talking,” he instructs.

Mackenzie shuts her mouth. And then opens it again for him. She shifts a leg and tugs on him and he takes a hint and moves to settle between her legs, scooping the bed covers out of the way so he can move his body against hers. He presses against the baby and she shoves him back. They blink at each other a moment.

“Sorry,” Mackenzie starts. “That felt weird.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Will says.

“Let me,” Mackenzie counters, moving to sit up quickly, lest he be put off and call it off. “Let me,” she pushes Will back further, and attempts to climb into his lap. He goes with it and lays back on the mattress. She straddles his hips, leaning down to kiss him again. His hands slide under her shirt to cup her ribs, and they find their rhythm again. He stops there, though, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin as they kiss. Mackenzie sits back and tugs her shirt off. Will’s hands shift down to her waist. She can see his face in the moonlight now and he looks surprised, his eyes on her chest. She leans down again and his hands slide higher, cupping her ribs again, his thumbs high enough to graze the edges of her breasts. He stops there though.

Mackenzie kisses him, and tickles at his side with her fingernails, making him groan. She rocks against him and their kisses get dirty but he still doesn’t touch her. Finally, she just takes his hands and puts them on her breasts and he looks up at her, breathing heavily, hair mussed, silently asking her if it’s ok. Mackenzie leans into him, lets him feel the full weight of her and he brushes the pads of his thumbs against her nipples, sending shivering jolts through her abdomen. She rewards him with a moan.

They make love by moonlight, Mackenzie taking charge, finding she’s more sensitive than she remembers and that Will is more tentative than usual, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s still beautiful, and she’s fucking missed him like crazy, and they’re doing it. Hurdle overcome.

Connected again.

Marriage consummated.

Finally.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie lays back against her pillow, looking up at the shapes the moonlight cuts on the ceiling and opposite wall. Will shifts next to her, drawing up the bed cover to her waist, but then covering her with himself; snuggling up close behind her. He nudges her over, bumps into her until she hits the edge of the mattress and shoots out a hand to hold onto it so he doesn’t knock her out of bed. Before she can protest though, he settles, presses a kiss to her shoulder, an arm tightly over the bottom of her ribs, above the swell of their baby.

“You’re amazing,” she tells him.

“ _You’re_ amazing,” Will counters.

Mackenzie gives a ‘hm’. “You’re just saying that because I’m a D cup.”

Will gives a huff of a laugh. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Mackenzie smirks at the wall and shifts her hand from gripping the mattress to petting his arm, smoothing down his arm hair, pleasantly soft. “I guess I can’t go for that annulment now.”

“Better not,” Will says gruffly. It makes Mackenzie shiver a little. Will draws the blanket up higher, thinking she’s cold. Mackenzie’s foot pokes out the bottom. He holds her tighter too, but she can’t shake the feeling she’s going to fall out of bed. She moves, turning over so they’re chest to chest. She tucks an arm between his and his side, so she can embrace him, and wiggles her face into a gap between his neck and shoulder. She’s not shivering because she’s cold at all, and pressed up against him like this, she’s soon sweaty again. She shifts more of her leg out from beneath the blanket.

“Shower?” Will asks.

“Mm, in a minute,” Mackenzie says softly. “You smell different.”

“I probably smell like you.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“You made me throw out my deodorant.”

“That’s probably it. What are you wearing now?”

“You.”

“You’re corny,” Mackenzie tells him with a huff of displeasure, but she wouldn’t kick him out of bed.

“And you’re hot, Jesus,” Will throws back the covers. “Come on,” he tugs her by the wrist gently. “Let’s go shower before I fall asleep.”

 


	46. Chapter 46

Will wakes to burning white brightness, lighting up the back of his eyelids. “Fuck,” he curses and turns his head. It doesn’t get better. He turns his head the other way. That doesn’t help either. He turns over, rolling to his right, towards his wife (who for some weird reason, is sleeping on the side of the bed he usually sleeps on at home), bumping up against her bare back; he can still feel the warmth of the sun at his spine.

Mackenzie gives a moan. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Will whispers, draping an arm over her waist, tucking it under her rib. He feels himself drifting back to sleep.

“Jesus Will, you’re a furnace,” Mackenzie complains attempting to shift away from him, while also pushing him off her. Will turns back, but the sun hits his eyes again, making him groan with displeasure. Mackenzie starts to get out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Will asks, prying his eyes open to see her walking, naked, across the room.

“I need to pee,” she mutters.

Will buries his face in her pillow, breathing in the smell of her and shampoo. He’s woken when she comes back, attempting to slide into bed next to him. He’s way over on her side though so she has to nudge her way in. She lays next to him, but without any covers; his skin radiating heat. “Guess what time it is,” Mackenzie almost whispers to him.

“Hm,” Will grunts.

“It’s after ten.”

Will grunts again.

“We’ve probably missed breakfast.”

“I’m hungry,” he mumbles.

“Me too. _Starving_.”

Will slides a hand along her thigh, up to her hip, then down again and into the curve.

“What are you doing?” Mackenzie asks him, a little breathless with the way the friction of his hand tingles along her skin.

“Nothing,” Will murmurs, opening his eyes to watch her as his fingers search between her legs. She gives him more room and they watch each other intently as he teases her. It ends with his fingers curling within her, his mouth on her breast, her fingers in his hair and his name cried from her lips.  She whimpers as she comes down and Will backs off a little, pleased with his handy work.

“Twice in eight hours?” Mackenzie says, turning her head to look at him, when she’s had mostly nothing for four months.

“Hey,” Will protests. “Three times.”

“You know what I mean,” Mackenzie says, rolling towards him, slipping a hand beneath the covers that are draped over his hips. “Want me to reciprocate? My gag reflex is doing much better these days.”

“Mm, I’d love that, but I think my recovery time is a bit longer than it used to be.”

She pouts cutely at him but he doesn’t add anything to that, and to be honest, she can’t get a reaction. “Room service,” she demands and rolls to get out of bed. “You order while I shower.”

“What do you want?” Will asks her retreating back but he’s too slow. She’s already closing the bathroom door. He sits up, and squints at the bright sunshine still coming in through the wide balcony doors. Should have closed those curtains last night. It was romantic to make love by moonlight, but waking up to the sun in his eyes is a total bitch. He moves to find a room service menu and calls to ask if they’ll still make breakfast for him, even though they technically stopped serving it nearly an hour ago. He’ll tip big. They’d be happy to accommodate.

He orders bacon, eggs, sausage and hash for himself, fruit and yoghurt for Mackenzie. Coffee and apple juice. Toast. The thought of food has his stomach growling and he goes to see what’s in the minibar so he doesn’t get feral (there’s chocolate. That will do). Mackenzie emerges from the bathroom, her hair up in a bun, but strands around her neck wet and sticking to her skin. She has a towel wrapped around her and she comes over to where he’s leaning against the bed head, munching on a snickers. She sits over his lap, giving him one of those sultry smiles, and leans in. She kisses him softly, more of a greeting than anything else.

“So what’s this recovery time like?” She asks, her breath a whisper on his lips. Will’s eyes flutter open to find her watching him intently, her eyes so dark. “Mm what are you eating?” She asks sharply. Will wordlessly gives her the rest of his chocolate bar and she takes a bite. She gives it back to him, but he doesn’t finish it. He had half. The rest is hers if she wants it.

“I –”, he starts, and loses his train of thought as her towel fortuitously slips open. She gives him an amused quirk of her lips. “Not sure,” he finishes.

“Hm,” Mackenzie muses. “So I should just try my luck frequently then?”

Will gives a little laugh. She has nothing on under that towel. “Breakfast is on the way up.”

“Better put some pants on then,” Mackenzie says.

“Me or you?” Will asks as she moves off him, taking the last bite of chocolate bar and popping it in her mouth.

“ _You_. You’re distracting,” she shoots him a devious expression over her shoulder as she stops by their bag and drops her towel. Will watches her dress for a moment before deciding that _she’s_ the total distraction. He gets out of bed to dress himself. When breakfast arrives they take it out to the balcony to eat in the sun. A slight breeze keeps the heat down just enough for Will to not feel uncomfortable. After half an hour Mackenzie announces they need sunscreen and heads inside. Will follows her, picking up their breakfast tray to leave on the table. He finds Mackenzie changing into a bikini.

“Let’s go to the beach Billy,” she says.

 

**********

 

Mackenzie has packed him shorts and t-shirts and flip flops, and Will can honestly say he didn’t really notice that it’s summer until now, and it’s just about over. They walk the block to the beach, hand in hand, him carrying the towels they hired from the hotel, and Mackenzie’s bag, and he realises how hot it is, even for late August. In New York, they move from air conditioned building to air conditioned building and he doesn’t think anything of pulling on jeans day after day; it’s a habit. Right now, his hand is sweaty in his wife’s and he’s wondering at what point she’s going to pull away, complaining he’s gross. He wonders if he can surreptitiously dry his hand off and offer it back to her.

When they reach the beach, Mackenzie stoops to remove her flip flops, wiggling her toes in the sand for a second; Will watches, amused. He keeps his footwear on. They walk down to the water line, Mackenzie switching sides so she can walk in the edge of the waves. She tells him the water’s cold; he mentally rules out swimming.

He waits on her. If she wants to walk in the water, they will. If she wants to sit on the beach, they can do that when she’s ready. She still looks tired (oops, kept her up late last night, again), but she seems way more relaxed than she was yesterday. Probably helps that they had sex, and Will thinks that if he’s taken it upon himself to take care for her while she’s pregnant, then she’s probably right when she says that it’s his duty to have sex (or do sex stuff) with her, for the stress releasing benefits. And then there’s also the bit where he wants to have sex with his wife. But kind of funny that she was telling him it’s his _job as her husband_ a few months ago, and he’s just putting it together now that actually, it could really help her out.

Mackenzie spots what looks like a farmer’s market in the near distance and suggests they head over to it. Will agrees, and they walk in silence, him feeling pensive that even though he’s been working so hard on himself in the last few months (or last month), he’s actually missed a lot. He’s missed summer, and he’s missed his wife. She’s right to complain he doesn’t talk to her, because he doesn’t. He’s been so focussed on himself, that he hasn’t been paying attention to what’s going on around him.

Damn.

They keep saying they’re going to get better at it, and while that’s reassuring on some level, Will thinks they should stop saying the words, and start actually doing it.

The farmer’s market has fruit and vegetables, crafts, clothes and flowers. Mackenzie wanders her way slowly around the stalls, stopping to look, and to talk to the attendants, and Will trails after her. He buys a punnet of blueberries, and when Mackenzie’s not looking, an assorted bunch of gerbera’s and daisies (because flowers don’t have to be so fancy, Billy). As he’s turning away from the flower stall, Mackenzie appears at his side. Her face is flushed and her eyes bright with a smile. “Hi,” she greets him, already happy he’s bought her flowers (so presumptuous) and he hasn’t even handed them over yet. 

He hands them over, and her smile deepens. “Thank you, Billy,” she says sweetly, and reaches up on her toes to give him a quick kiss. Her skin is warm when her arm presses against his (and he fleetingly wonders if she has enough sunscreen on). She has a purchase of her own. “Isn’t it nice?” She asks him as she hands it over. “It’s hand made.”

The wood is smooth and varnished, and a beautiful rich honey colour. It’s a larger wooden ring connected next to a smaller wooden ring; like a disproportionate infinity symbol. Will can’t see a join, so it must be carved from one piece. “Yeah it’s nice,” Will agrees.

“For the baby, obviously,” Mackenzie goes on, she presses the flowers to her nose.

“What is it?” Will finally asks.

Mackenzie gives him a slightly amused smile. “It’s a teething ring, and yeah, I know it’s a bit early for that. That’s going to be a six months old thing, but it was so nice, and I haven’t bought anything for the baby yet.”

The baby is going to grow teeth at six months? Will thinks, alarmed. That’s – that seems way too early for that. Isn’t that more like a one year old kind of thing? He’s going to need more books. So far he’s focused on the things that happen before the baby is born, but if Mackenzie’s already thinking about things that are happening _after_ the baby is here…

“Have you seen any water around here?” Mackenzie interrupts his thoughts. “I’m thirsty.”

Will cranes his neck to look over the heads of the crowds in the market. He spots a vending machine against the wall of what looks like public bathrooms. “Over there,” he says to his wife. She looks in the direction he’s indicated and starts to head off. She reaches back for his hand, but it’s too hard to stay together with so many people around. Will gets bumped into several times from several angles, and jostled roughly once, and he’s suddenly worrying about Mackenzie and the baby getting pushed too hard or getting knocked over. He hurries a step to be closer to her, but she seems to weave in and around the bodies easily, while he tends to clumsily plough through them.

At the vending machine Mackenzie takes a moment to figure out how they’re going to do this. Will has his hands full with her bag, the towels, blueberries and the teething ring. She’s holding on to her flowers and her flip flops but she drops those to the concrete and gives the bouquet to him (he presses them awkwardly against his chest with his arm), leans in and slips a hand into his pocket, taking out his wallet. She smells like sunscreen and she doesn’t seem to notice the way her being that close catches his breath. She finds coins in the change pocket, and inserts them into the slot of the machine, pressing for a bottle of water. She stoops to pick it up and Will notices for the first time that she half leans to the side to compensate for the baby. She’s wearing tiny shorts, but a loose shirt and it’s not obvious that she’s pregnant. She looks great though, summery and relaxed (she’s smiling _a lot_ ), and he’s always been a big fan of her legs.

Mackenzie twists off the cap from the bottled water and takes a mouthful, tipping her head back and Will watches her throat intently, glad for sunglasses so he doesn’t look like a total pervert. He’s overloaded with things to carry so stands helpless, watching and waiting. Mackenzie puts the cap back on her water bottle and studies him a moment. She indicates she wants the bag so Will let’s her take it. She squats where she is, making space for her water bottle, then her flip flops and the teething ring, and the blueberries. She takes the towels and lays them over the top and then gives him back the handles. “Much better,” she announces. She gestures to the vending machine. “Do you want some water? I’m getting you some water,” she answers before he has a chance to respond. She puts more coins in the slot and gets another bottle. “Do you want to sit on the beach for a bit?” She asks him, as she tucks the fresh water into the bag as well.

“If you want to,” Will answers, standing patiently with the bag in one hand, and her flowers in the other. Two kids run up to the vending machine and start debating about which soda to get. Mackenzie looks at them fondly before leading the way again. They head back down to the sand, and walk along back towards the hotel. There are loungers and umbrellas set up for guests of the hotel to use. They show their room key and find two loungers just a little further away from everyone else. Mackenzie spreads out their towels and takes her pick and Will sits on the other, facing her as she takes off her shirt and shimmies out of her shorts so she’s in her bikini.

Will kicks off his flip flops, his toes gritty with sand anyway, and that’s about as much clothing he’s going to be removing (his body is not beach ready). He puts Mackenzie’s bag between them (and tries to put the flowers in the shade of his lounger) and leans in to take out the blueberries. He offers them to her first, and she takes a little handful. Wil pops a few into his mouth. They’re slightly over ripe, but they’re edible.

“So this is our honeymoon?” Mackenzie speaks, twisting to lean back against the lounger (she covered herself in sunscreen back at the hotel).

Will looks up from the punnet and takes in her reclined, bikini-clad, pregnant form. Stunning. “If you want – I mean, I thought we might go to the south of France for our honeymoon.”

“But when are we going to do that before the baby’s born?” Mackenzie asks rhetorically, not looking at him. As far as he can tell, behind her sunglasses, her eyes are closed.

“We could still go sometime,” Will adds, tossing a rotting blueberry into the sand over Mackenzie’s shoulder.

“That sounds nice,” she turns her head and gives him a slight smile. He offers her more blueberries and she accepts. She pops them into her mouth one at a time as she looks out at the water. “Maybe when we find a babysitter willing to take a three year old for a week.”

Three? That old?

Oh, for a week, yeah that might be… Will has no idea what a three year old’s like.

So yeah, maybe this _is_ their honeymoon.

He can feel the sun burning his hair. He should have brought a hat.

“Is it ok this is our honeymoon?” He tosses away another blueberry. A seagull screeches overhead.

“It’s wonderful Will,” Mackenzie says, looking over at him again. She reaches out to squeeze his knee. “Exactly what I wanted.”

Will thinks perhaps not, but he’s not interested in an argument to get her to confess that she really wanted two weeks on a beach in southern France visiting vineyards and snorkelling, or perhaps a Mediterranean cruise where she can learn to surf. He turns to lay against his own lounger. In the distance he can see a jet ski and yellow lifejacket wearing rider. That could be fun. He wonders if he can hire one somewhere.

He eats more blueberries and offers more to Mackenzie. She declines but asks him to get her water bottle. He sits up to take it from her bag and she takes several more long draws before offering him the bottle. He drinks most of the rest of it, but leaves a little in the bottom. He goes through Mackenzie’s bag, finding the multi-tool he just knows is there (if he had to blindly name five things in Mackenzie’s bag, after tissues, her phone, purse, and keys, it would be the knife). He cuts open the bottle of water from about halfway, then makes a little hole in the sand to pop it into, then puts the flowers in his makeshift vase.

“Nicely done,” Mackenzie approves, and then leans back with her eyes closed. Will appraises her legs, the swell of her baby bump, and her tits, then closes his eyes with that image firmly implanted in his brain, and falls asleep in the sun.

 


	47. Chapter 47

Will wakes, suddenly unsure of where he is, and he’s fucking hot and sweaty and disgustingly sticky. He looks over at his wife on the lounger next to him, but her eyes are closed and she’s still, possibly, asleep herself (or just resting her eyes). Will checks to make sure their things are still there (they are) and then he checks the time. It’s heading into the late afternoon and he’s hungry and needs air-conditioning or a cold shower. Or some shade. He gets up and takes a large beach umbrella abandoned by another pair of loungers, jamming it into the sand above the heads of their seats, so the shade is on his side and not his wife’s. The movement wakes her anyway. She looks up at him. “What time is it?”

“Just after two,” Will sits again. He’s still hot. The shade doesn’t reach his legs. They look somewhat red. They’re probably both long overdue for more sunscreen. Will digs the spare water bottle out of the bag and cracks the top.

“Mm, I’m hungry,” Mackenzie announces, stretching a little, watching him drink. “And cooked.”

“Shall we head back?” Will offers her the water.

“Yeah.”

Mackenzie carries her flowers (slightly sun baked as well), while Will carries everything else. They stop at the top of the beach to wash the sand from their feet and Mackenzie points out a little café across the road. They go in but find most of the cabinet food gone. Mackenzie settles on a container of fruit and a muffin. Will takes the pastrami sandwich she turned down. It feels more like a snack than a meal. Will gets another bottle of chilled water. They take the food back to their hotel and sit on the bed while they eat, the air conditioning blasting. Mackenzie gets up and goes to their shared luggage, taking out a notepad and a tablet from the side pocket. She comes back to the bed.

“That better not be work,” Will warns, popping open the packaging on his sandwich. He finds himself hungrier than he thought.

“It’s the list,” Mackenzie tosses the paper to his lap. “I rewrote it,” she climbs to the bed, crossing her legs to sit by his knee. Will takes a massive bite of his sandwich, and picks up the list to look at it while he chews. The girl’s names are gone. Instead there’s a neat list of boy’s names. Mackenzie taps her tablet awake and brings up a web page. She types in a key word and looks over at him while it searches.

Will swallows. “Where’s the rest of them?”

Mackenzie pops a piece of pineapple in her mouth and gives him an innocent expression. “The rest of what?”

“The names.”

“Well I removed the girl’s names, seeing as that’s redundant now.” She smiles so sweetly, she almost forms a dimple in her left cheek.

“Yeah, I meant the other – wasn’t the list longer than this?”

“Well, it was basically a list of names crossed out.”

 _Do we ever agree on anything?_ Will thinks. He looks down at the page. He can honestly say he doesn’t like any of those names. Even the ones he thinks he suggested. “Do we have to do this now?” He asks. He’s tired. He doesn’t feel up to debating. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

Mackenzie looks at him neutrally. “No,” she says. “I just thought, because we have a minute.” She presses a button on the edge of the tablet and the screen goes dark. She tosses it to the bed next to her and selects a grape from her fruit salad.

Will finishes his sandwich and brushes crumbs from his fingers, thinking of a way to salvage the situation. There is no way he wants to fight with his wife on their honeymoon. “I just mean, the only names I can think of right now are probably going to be US presidents.”

Mackenzie gives a quirk of her mouth. “That’s why I was looking up lists of boy’s names to help _inspire_ us.”

Will gestures to the tablet, suggesting she pick it up again and she does, happily. He thinks it’s good to keep the peace, but also wishes he could say ‘no’ to her, and not have her be mad at him. Or for him to worry that she’s mad at him. But he assumes they’ll figure that out when they see the marriage counsellor. They only have to hang in there a few more weeks.

“It’s a shame we’re not having a girl,” Mackenzie muses, as she brings the tablet to life again. “I’ve thought of a ton of cute girl names I love.”

“Like?” Will asks, leaning forward slightly to take a piece of pineapple. Mackenzie absently nudges the container closer to him. He eyes up her muffin.

“Natalie, Amelia, Kaitlin,” she reels off.

Will has to agree, he likes those names too.

“Wilhelmina,” Mackenzie adds.

Will looks over at her, alarmed. She gives him a grin. “Just checking you were listening.”

“Of course I’m listening,” Will grumbles. “What have you got there,” he gestures to the tablet. He reaches for the complimentary hotel pen on his nightstand. Mackenzie starts at ‘A’ and they managed to get Adam and Andrew on the list without much argument. But it’s doing Will’s head in and he feels the need to take another nap. He eats half of Mackenzie’s fruit, but she doesn’t share her muffin. Will slouches down on the bed so he’s lying flat, propped up by his pillows. Eventually, Mackenzie joins him, leaning on his shoulder. He can see the tablet himself now, so she gives up reading the names out loud, just scrolls through the pages slowly, giving him time to read them himself. ‘B’ and ‘C’ yield nothing, and by the time they get to ‘D’ Will has his eyes closed.

“What about Damien?” Mackenzie asks softly.

“Hm,” Will grunts, his mind drifting from her voice to the sound of the ocean, to the cry of a bird beyond the open balcony doors.

“Are you asleep?” Mackenzie whispers.

“No,” Will says, but his eyes are firmly shut, his breathing is even, and he can feel himself being tugged into slumber rapidly.

“Old man,” Mackenzie teases, but when he wakes an hour later, she’s still beside him on the bed, eyes closed herself. He turns to curl up around her and she hums but doesn’t say anything. She also doesn’t push him away, even though he can feel her skin is warm. She smells like sunscreen and salt and her. He presses a kiss to what feels like a shoulder, but Mackenzie doesn’t say anything or move.

“You awake?” Will murmurs.

“Hm,” Mackenzie answers.

“Want to go get dinner? I’m hungry.” And he feels really awake.

“Sh for a moment,” Mackenzie requests. “Let’s just lay here.”

Will shifts his hand to cover the swell of the baby, testing out what it feels like, and Mackenzie moves a hand to cover the back of his. Then she moves, pulling away from him completely and sitting up. “Never mind,” she mutters. “I need to pee.” 

Will tidies up the room a little, puts the trash from their lunch in the bin and puts the list and tablet on the nightstand. They share a shower to wash away the beach, which means Will stands in the corner getting cold while Mackenzie rinses out her hair. This is why he insisted on a double shower when they renovated the apartment. Mackenzie gooses him on her way out, pleased with herself, while Will has to stoop to pick up the shampoo bottle he dropped in surprise. When he gets out of the shower Mackenzie is in underwear, checking something on her phone. Will immediately feels his heckles rise. “No work,” he mutters.

“A message from my mother,” Mackenzie corrects, and Will feels annoyed that he assumed and was wrong. “Just asking how I am.” She puts the phone down and turns to him. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“Wherever you want,” Will answers automatically, looking for clean underwear in the bag while holding onto the towel around his waist.

“You haven’t made a reservation?” Mackenzie asks.

“I didn’t really have time to make one before we got here,” Will says shortly.

“I just meant, if you haven’t already made a reservation, we could explore,” Mackenzie says softly, and Will regrets his tone. He slips his underwear on, and tosses his damp towel to the bed, and then stands there, stumped. Mackenzie is right. They need to decide where they’re going to eat, so they can decide how to dress.

“If you want to explore,” he starts, as Mackenzie says, ‘you decide’. “You decide,” Will echoes firmly. “Really. Anywhere.”

“I don’t know anywhere here,” Mackenzie points out, shifting her weight to jut out a hip. It draws Will’s eye.

“If you want to explore,” Will offers again.

“You know what I feel like?” Mackenzie says.

“What?” Will almost shrugs.

“Tacos. I feel like tacos. Do you think the in-house restaurant has tacos?”

“I have no idea,” Will freely admits. Mackenzie moves past him to retrieve her tablet. She silently looks for places that sell tacos (Will assumes, because she doesn’t say anything) and announces there’s a place a few blocks from where they are now. Will gives a nod and looks for evening attire, but can’t find a button down shirt. Mackenzie comes up next to him and selects a roll of red from out of the bag. It’s a dress. And because she’s rolled it into a cylinder, it’s wrinkle free.

“Here,” she says to him, handing him the shorts he was wearing earlier in the day. “Wear these.” She reaches into the bag and selects a rolled up black shirt. With a flick it unrolls and she gives that to him too. “And this,” she adds and then she goes into the bathroom. Will complies. The shirt is a fitted V-neck tee with three buttons down the front (he leaves the top one open), and is perhaps a little tighter on his chest than he might like (did he buy this shirt? Is it his? Where did it come from?), but Mackenzie gives him a happy expression when she emerges from the bathroom, that makes Will feel glad to wear it (and that he might hit the gym after all). She’s put her hair up and added a light layer of make-up and Will thinks that she looks radiant.

“You’re glowing,” he blurts and her smile goes wider.

She approaches where he’s standing and reaches up on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth. “Probably because I’m so happy,” she says, but her eyes are a little cautious when she glances at him as she moves away; Will doesn’t call her out on that. She puts on sandals. Will resorts to his flip flops (he bangs the sand off onto the balcony before he puts them on again. Nevertheless, they feel gritty between his toes).

They head out. It’s early to have dinner but to be fair, they’d normally be eating around this time anyway; before broadcast. They walk along the street, parallel to the beach, but no closer or further from it. Will can smell the salt in the air and hear the screech of a bird. Mackenzie holds his hand as they stroll, weaving her way through light foot traffic. Will can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she looks. The smooth curve of her exposed shoulder, and her calves in her mid-thigh length dress. The way her hair shines in the evening sun. The swell of the baby. He can’t get over how pregnant she looks (now that she’s dressed to show it off?), and how gorgeous it is.

Mackenzie finds the taco place, a hole in the wall type establishment, with wide open concertina windows straight on the street. She stands for a moment near the entrance and then tugs him away again.

“Hang on,” Will tries to stop her. She walks a few more meters before moving off to the side. “I thought you wanted to eat there?”

Her mouth is a grim line and she shakes her head slightly. “I can’t eat there.”

“Why not?”

“It smells.”

“It smells?” Will repeats, surprised.

“Yeah,” she winces. “I can’t. Sorry. Can we find somewhere else?”

“What do you mean it smells?”

“Really strongly of cayenne pepper.”

Will can’t even smell the soap on his own skin.

“Can we eat somewhere else?” Mackenzie requests again.

“I can go and get you tacos, if you want. We can take them somewhere else.”

Mackenzie shakes her head again. “I can’t eat tacos.” 

“Ok. We can eat wherever you want.”

“We could walk for a bit?” Mackenzie suggests. “And if we can’t find somewhere, we could just go back to the hotel.”

“We could walk for a bit?” Mackenzie suggests. “And if we can’t find somewhere, we could just go back to the hotel.”

“Ok,” Will agrees. They walk another fifteen minutes, getting further from the hotel. Will gets increasingly hungry, and wishes Mackenzie would make up her mind about somewhere soon. They’ve already walked past three other potential places to eat. Mackenzie doesn’t reach for his hand this time, even though she walks with him, coming closer and going further away as they move around other pedestrians. Will’s starting to think he might demand they go back to the hotel restaurant, when Mackenzie spots a surf-themed diner across the street. Will follows her over. Mackenzie peruses the menu from the sidewalk; Will scrolls down until he finds a cheeseburger. That will do him.

“Shall we go in?” Mackenzie looks up at him, much shorter without heels on.

“Sure,” Will agrees easily, feeling his stomach rejoice. Mackenzie chats up the waiter, and gets them a table right in the front, where the sun comes in and Mackenzie can watch people go by. The waiter brings them iced water with lemon, and tries to give Will a beer list. He automatically goes to take it, then remembers Mackenzie’s not drinking, and if she isn’t, then he doesn’t want to either, and declines.

“Get something,” Mackenzie says.

“No, I’m fine, really,” Will insists.

“Can I get a soda water with lime?” Mackenzie requests of the waiter politely.

“I’ll have the same,” Will jumps in. He reaches to pour plain water for them both, while their waiter goes to fill their order.

“You can have a beer, Billy,” Mackenzie says.

Will gives a shrug of his mouth.

“I don’t mind if you drink and I don’t,” she says sweetly, leaning forward on the table.

Will glances down the front of her dress. “I don’t want to,” he says simply.

“Are you also going to gain thirty pounds of pregnancy weight when I do?” She teases.

“If you want me to,” Will puts the water jug down.

“You’d never shift it again.”

Will raises his water glass. “That’s true. To you and me,” he toasts.

“And baby makes three?” Mackenzie suggests with a slight smile.

“Baby makes three,” Will echoes and feels a pang in his stomach.

They’re going to be three.

They sip their water and then their sodas arrive. Mackenzie announces she better take a look at the menu, even though she did so out on the street. Will waits on her, not wanting to rush her along with immediately ordering his cheeseburger, but he’s honestly starting to feel impatient. Mackenzie settles on a Cajun chicken fajita, which is a million miles from the beef she’s clearly been craving the last few months (and doesn’t Cajun contain cayenne pepper?), with a side salad. Will orders his cheeseburger with fries. He asks them to hurry, if they can. The waiter doesn’t really answer him. Will thinks about tipping in advance.

A hundred dollars if you can get it on the table in five minutes.

“Aw are you hungry?” Mackenzie asks him kindly.

Will takes a large pull of his drink; the carbonated liquid bringing a sudden tear to his eye.

“Am I being fickle?” She adds.

“You are,” Will says lightly, but he doesn’t really mind.   

 

 


	48. Chapter 48

 

Mackenzie emerges from the bathroom and finds Will stretched out on their bed, hands linked behind his head, his eyes closed. He can’t surely be asleep again? They’ve napped twice today already. She goes to sit over his hips, careful to keep off his stomach, seeing as they’ve just eaten. His eyes shoot open and his hands come to her thighs, steading her, or keeping her at a distance. She gives him a smile and he looks up at her, eyebrows slightly raised, asking silently what she wants.

“Dinner was nice,” she says.

“Pretty decent cheeseburger,” Will concedes.

“Sorry for being fickle.”

“No,” Will shakes his head. “It’s ok.” He squeezes the curve of her knees on each side and it makes her tighten her thighs against his hips. She thinks about riding him again.

“You look like you got a bit of sun,” Mackenzie leans forward to press the palm of her hand against her husband’s forehead.

“I put cream on,” Will frowns at her.

“Maybe you’re just hot,” she says, sitting back.

“I have someone sitting on me.”

“Am I squishing your balls?”

Will gives a quirk of his mouth. “No, they’re fine.”

“Want to go for a swim?”

“In the ocean?” Will frowns at her again, but she suspects this time it’s not on purpose, she suspects he doesn’t like the idea. So not in the ocean.

“In the pool?” Mackenzie offers instead.

“Sure,” Will says warmly. “Maybe after my cheeseburger digests a little.”

“Wouldn’t want you to sink,” Mackenzie quips. Will rubs her thighs with his palms and it makes her twitch. “I like you too much for that,” she adds softly, liking the way his gaze is focused on hers. He gives the slightest tilt of his chin, a subtle gesture to ‘come here’ and she lowers herself against him to press her mouth against his. She can smell the mint on his lips from the candy he took from the bowl by the register before they left the restaurant and when she dares to tease further into his mouth, she can taste the sweetness.

Will used to chew gum after he smoked when they were dating the first time, and it throws her back there a moment, to no particular day, kissing in bed, or on one of their couches, and they were happy. It’s Mackenzie who ends the kiss now, overwhelmed for a second by their past and a pang of regret for things that were lost. Will is watching her neutrally and so she gives him a slight smile and reminds herself that those things, they’re not misplaced. They’re all right here.

“This was a really wonderful idea,” she murmurs to her husband, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair. It feels sticky with salt, even though he washed it when they showered earlier, and as she shifts the strands she can see the lines of silver.

“Making out?” Will asks.

She gives him an amused smile. “Yes, that too, but I meant this weekend,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry it’s not France.”

“I don’t care it’s not France,” she says curtly. “I only _care_ that you’re here.”

Will gives her such a soft smile it’s barely there, and he doesn’t say anything more. Mackenzie is almost reluctant to cut the silence, but she’s not been very good at saying nothing. “Have you picked out a colour for the nursery?”

Will’s lips draw into a line and his eyes cloud. “It’s a lot harder – do you know how many shades of blue there are?”

“You’re asking me?” Mackenzie challenges lightly, shifting to lie next to him, so she doesn’t have to hold up her body weight. Will turns onto his side and she uses his bicep as a pillow, pressing her palm to his chest and feeling the heat of his body through the material. It’s a nice shirt. Makes him look a bit more buff than he actually is (but could be again, if he put a little effort into it). “Do you remember how long I agonised over colour swatches?”

“I remember,” Will murmurs.

“While you were no help.”

“I help – how many times do I need to say the colour in the master bath is fine?”

Mackenzie laughs. Will leans down to nuzzle against her neck, placing feather fine kisses just beneath her ear. “It feels like forever ago,” she says breathlessly.

“Hm?”

“Picking colours for the master bath.”

“Hm,” Will agrees. He moves back and looks down at her. He stares at her for a while and Mackenzie waits for him to add something else, but he seems lost. She asks him and he replies with: “You’re so beautiful.”

Mackenzie feels a smile twitching unbidden on her lips. He used to say that to her when they were dating the first time, and she’d shush him, not believing he could be so enthralled. Only because no one had ever _been_ so enthralled before. She reaches up a hand to his jaw and draws him closer to kiss his mouth. He teases his tongue against her lips but when she opens her mouth to let him in, he draws away. She frowns.

“I haven’t picked a colour,” Will says. “But I’ve got it down to blue, or blue, or blue.”

Mackenzie smiles at him and draws a finger down his nose. He ducks out of her touch. “Do you know which blue I like?”

“Please tell me,” Will almost groans.

“This blue,” she shifts the hand that was attempting to trace his face to point at the wall above her head.

Will looks up at it. Blinks, as if he’s just noticed. “It’s nice,” he agrees.

“It’s not too cold,” Mackenzie adds.

“Yeah,” he says. “If you like it we can go with that.”

“Ok,” Mackenzie agrees.

“Great!” Will enthuses. “But I’m going to hire someone to paint, because it’s just not in my skill set.”

“Aren’t you a farm boy? Shouldn’t you be able to paint and build a shed?” Mackenzie teases.

Will presses his mouth against hers to shush her. It works very well. For a while.

“Maybe we should get something else put on the walls,” Will goes on.

“Like what?” Mackenzie asks, breathless again, her eyes dark.

“I don’t know. Storks?”

Mackenzie laughs.

“I don’t know what to put on a baby’s wall,” Will says, chagrined.

She crinkles her eyes at him. “Sure, storks, if you want. Or clouds.”

Will nods.

“I was thinking about getting new curtains,” Mackenzie adds.

“Why?” Will frowns. “What’s wrong with the curtains there?”

“Well, _nothing_ , but, if it’s going to be the _nursery_ , then, I thought, what about some cute little _teddy_ bears?”

Will gives a slight smile to that, more interested the way she’s said it, than the suggestion of teddy bears on the curtains. She’s excited, and her voice gets squeakier as it gets into the higher registers. Mostly, he just loves that she looks so happy, talking about their baby’s room. “Yeah, teddy bears,” Will says. “We could look at some together.”

Mackenzie beams up at him, her dark hair blanketing his arm. It’s gotten long and she looks so beautiful and she’s having his baby. He leans down to kiss her again, softly, and reverently. Mackenzie slides a leg between his, and half turns, so they’re embracing as they kiss. Will frees his arm from behind her head and awkwardly tries cupping her skull, and then forces her to lie back so he can lean over her. He stays at her hip, so he doesn’t squash the baby, but he presses his chest against hers, and feels her foot curl around his ankle (tugging his legs hairs, but never mind that).

Mackenzie makes a small noise in the back of her throat and grips him tighter. She doesn’t warn him this time about not following through on a hot and heavy making out session, but he knows it’s there. He knows, from his time talking with Habib, that patterns of behaviour (and patterns of thinking) take time to change, and if he’s spent months telling Mackenzie ‘no’ every time she so much as looked at him, it will take a bit of convincing for her to know that he doesn’t want to lead her on every time they kiss like this (and feel each other up, to be honest). He knows he’s made some things between them more fraught than they needed to be. But he needed the time to work on them one at a time. And these are things he wishes he could explain to her, but for whatever reason, he either doesn’t have the right words, or she doesn’t hear him. And they fight.

Will has a hand under the skirt of her dress when he feels the pressure of her hands against his chest, gently pushing him away. He surfaces from her neck, his blue eyes careful. “Wait a minute?” Mackenzie requests breathlessly. Her eyes are shiny and her cheeks red. Will likes the way her chest heaves for air, but he does oblige her request, backing off a little and leaving his fingers to flutter against the inside of her thigh. Mackenzie pauses a second and then pushes herself up to sit, forcing Will to move right back. “Just wait there, one minute,” Mackenzie tells him again and when he gives a mildly bewildered nod of acknowledgement, she scoots off the bed.

By the time Will turns onto his back, she’s disappearing into the bathroom and he thinks ‘oh ok, maybe she needs to…’ and then he draws a blank because what could possibly be more pressing than the fact that they were about to have sex. Or maybe twice in two days is too much for her, but she can just tell him that. He’s ok with that. Like she says: ‘ _they can do other stuff’_. Or not. He wishes she could just tell him things, because he won’t get mad. He’s been working really hard on that. Sometimes, things need to be said. And it’s even harder to do when the other person loses their shit about it (which is why he wants her to see a marriage counsellor _with_ him. So that she can hear it from a professional, someone who has the right words to explain that she needs to stay calm during a difficult discussion. Because if she hears that from him, he thinks there’s a really good chance she’ll punch him. Not to say he’s blaming all their problems on her. He knows he’s more than played his part, starting with his reaction right before he ended their relationship six years ago. They’ve both gotten into bad habits).

The bathroom door pops open and Mackenzie emerges. She’s shed the dress and changed into the palest pink lingerie. Will is immediately attentive (Jesus, how could he not!), shifting to sit up slightly higher on the bed, and staring unashamedly as she comes closer. The underwear is not overly complicated (it’s just a bra and brief set), but she looks fantastic in it, and she’s grinning as she reaches the bed and shifts to sit over his lap. He has to make her sit back so she really doesn’t squash his balls this time, but that also gives him a good excuse to touch her. He trails his hands over her thighs, curling around and discovering the brief is actually a thong. “I bought it for our honeymoon,” she starts, rolling her hips forward as he teases her skin. She looks sheepish, “But I didn’t think I’d be pregnant then so, they don’t really fit.”

“You look incredible,” Will immediately jumps in, sliding his hands from her hip, to the curve of her waist, right up to the edges of her breasts, and yeah, if he looks, he can see the bra doesn’t quite fit properly (she’s almost falling out the bottom) and maybe the thong is cutting into her hip when it normally wouldn’t (not because she’s gotten fat, which she has not, but because her hips are widening to accommodate the birth), but what does he care? Mackenzie gives a pleased smile, almost shy, and he draws her closer to kiss her. “But maybe if you’re uncomfortable, we should just take these off?” He raises his eyebrows at her and the flush of her cheeks creeps suddenly to her chest. He lays her back and teases the lingerie from her body, and then makes love to her like he’s never made love to her bef– well, this year anyway.

They used to have the most incredible sex the first time they dated.

 


	49. Chapter 49

Mackenzie hangs off her husband’s arm as they walk through the hotel, even though it’s hot, she’s hot and Will’s already complained _he’s_ hot. Her flip flops slap against the hardwood lobby floor as they head through to the rear, but also against the soles of her feet, and they feel gritty with sand. She didn’t wear them on the beach, but it seems those tiny little grains of broken down rock have found their way in anyway.

The pool is a small oblong, set into the ground, and surrounded by white patio furniture; tables, chairs and blue umbrellas. It’s nearly empty; there’s a family at one end, a couple of kids in the water. The sun is starting to go down, and even though it still bathes one end of the pool, the other is in shadow. Will guides them to the nearest table, which also happens to be the one furthest from the family. The little boy has yellow water wings (and is wriggling his way to the edge of the pool), and the girl, older, is sitting in an inflatable sea monster ring (spinning herself in lazy circles).

At the table, Mackenzie kicks her flip flops under a chair and shrugs out of the bathrobe she took from their room. She’s already in her bikini, ready to swim, while Will takes more time to shake out their towels and arrange everything so, so. Mackenzie goes to the edge of the pool. There’s a mosaic around the top of it, differing shades of blue and aqua. She sits, dipping her feet to test the temperature, then takes the plunge and slides into the water. It’s bracing, but she’s also in the shade. She pushes away from the edge, ducking her head under, breathing out through her nose as she twists like a torpedo. She feels weightless and relaxed. And happy, she supposes. Things aren’t perfect with Will, but right now, it kind of feels like it.

She surfaces in the sun, standing, the water reaching to the edge of her ribs. She brushes a stray strand of hair from her eye, and wipes the water away, then crouches again, so the water is at her chin. She sees Will sitting by the edge of the pool, where she entered, his feet in the water, looking out at something in the distance. His hair is still slightly askew from where she thoroughly mussed it, crying out his name as he worshipped her, and the knowledge almost has her blushing.

“Hello.”

Mackenzie turns and finds the girl, probably around eight or nine, has paddled her way closer to where Mackenzie crouches in the water. “Hello,” Mackenzie answers with a smile, leaning back in the water so she floats.

“My name is Isobel, what’s your name?” The girl asks with a slight lisp. How cute.

“Isobel is a lovely name,” Mackenzie gushes. “My name is Mackenzie.”

“I like your name too,” the girls responds. “Where are you from?”

“New York.”

“People talk funny in New York,” Isobel muses, but she stares at Mackenzie in an intense way, as if challenging her on that assumption. “Are you having a baby?”

Mackenzie is stunned for a moment, but Isobel probably saw her before she got into the water, and she forgets that the swell of her body is because of the baby, not because she had a large lunch. “Yes,” she says with a smile.

“My mom’s having a baby too. That’s how I can tell.”

“That’s exciting,” Mackenzie says.

“Is it a girl?”

“No, it’s a boy.”

“Oh. I already have a brother. I want a sister.”

“Is that your brother over there?” Mackenzie gestures with her chin. Isobel paddles herself around to look where Mackenzie has indicated, then paddles back, nodding solemnly. “What’s his name?”

“Charlie,” Isobel answers innocently, making Mackenzie’s heart pound for a moment.

“I like that name too,” Mackenzie says.

“It’s ok,” Isobel shrugs dismissively. “Are you married?”

“Yes, that’s my husband over there,” Mackenzie points. Isobel paddles herself around to stare at Will, who is still sitting by the side of the pool. He’s looking over at them now. Mackenzie gives him a little wave, and he raises his hand in return.

“Are you here on a holiday?”

“We’re on our honeymoon.”

“Don’t you have to be married _before_ you can have a baby?” Isobel asks Mackenzie with a curious frown, turning herself to face Mackenzie again.

Will slides into the water. He can probably hear them too. But so can Isobel’s parents. They call her over, apologising to Mackenzie for the conversation. Mackenzie brushes them off genially; it’s fine. Even the burn about having to be married before having a baby. Isobel says goodbye and paddles to the edge of the pool. Will stays where he is, crouching so the water is at his neck as well, leaning against the pool wall and Mackenzie breast strokes to the end of the oblong, turning to mimic Will’s action, but with the sun on her face. She closes her eyes and listens to the family departing (the boy whines that he’s hungry; but it’s bedtime, so he can have a snack only; Isobel declaring she’s wiped out), wondering if one day that will be her and Will. Two kids? A boy and a girl? She really has no idea how it’s going to go with just one, let alone two.

A tweak on her toe has her jumping, eyes flying open. Will has swum up to her, his hair darker now that it’s wet and plastered to his head. He’s grinning, and protests softly as she swats at him. “You gave me a fright,” Mackenzie needlessly says. Will chuckles and takes her hand, drawing it down under the water, and coming in close to kiss her. His mouth is warm in contrast to the cold water surrounding her body. She shifts to wrap her legs around his waist, half sitting on his bent knee; the water must be much shallower here if he’s practically folded in half.

“I see you made friends,” Will notes when he draws away.

Mackenzie has to squint at him a little, the sun reflecting off the water behind his shoulder. She gives a slight smile, “The boy’s name is _Charlie_.”

Will’s eyes get a little serious at the mention of that name, and it occurs to Mackenzie again that they still haven’t talked about Charlie the elder, or what kind of impact his death has had on Will. But this is not the time or place and so she has to move past it _again,_ instead of pushing him to talk. She wonders if it’s something she can bring up with the marriage counsellor. If Will has things he wants a marriage counsellor to teach her, then she has things she wants the marriage counsellor to teach Will too.

Mackenzie feels Will’s hands, which were on her waist, slacken off, so she puts hers around his neck; when he pulls away, she clings on tighter. “I think it’s a really sweet name,” she notes.

“Yeah,” Will says.

“For a little boy,” Mackenzie adds softly.

“Yeah,” Will says again, but less nonchalant.

“And I’d be glad to name our son after Charlie Skinner,” Mackenzie adds, one last little half attempt.

“Me too,” Will says with a nod, and at least he hasn’t swum to the other end of the pool, or pushed her away, or changed the subject. Mackenzie gives him a quick kiss, and then moves away herself, to swim lazily through the water. She gets what Will means when he says they can’t have a conversation about serious stuff without one of them losing their shit, because she’s just avoided pushing to talk about Charlie for that very reason. She just wishes he’d talk to her without her having to pick and pick and pick. Surely he knows by now that she needs that? She’ll be glad to see the counsellor. The sooner they get this over with, the better.

  

**********

 

The sun goes down and Mackenzie gets cold. She also gets hungry. Will’s given her quite the workout this evening, so they head back up to their room and shower (again, to get rid of the chlorine smell), change for bed, and raid the minibar while they scroll through hundreds of television channels with nothing to show for it. Mackenzie cuddles up against Will’s chest, seeking out more body warmth while he stretches out full length on the bed, shirtless. The sun is still hanging low in the sky, which gives enough light, but is no longer licking the bed.

“Today has been wonderful,” Mackenzie says softly.

“Hm?” Will responds, sounding sleepy.

Mackenzie shifts a little to see his eyes, and they flicker open at her. “I said, today has been wonderful.”

“That’s good,” Will says. He combs his fingers through the ends of her damp hair.

“When do we have to go back tomorrow?”

“Whenever you want.”

Mackenzie gives a pleased ‘hm’, but says: “Probably not too late though.”

“Probably not,” Will agrees and reaches to put a kiss on her hairline. Mackenzie drops her head again and flicks through a few more television channels. She finds a _Friends_ rerun and leaves it on there. Will nudges her shoulder with his hand, so she reaches for a Milk Dud from the box resting on Will’s stomach, and reaches up with her hand, blindly aiming somewhere near his mouth. She feels the touch of his tongue against her finger as he takes the chocolate.

“Was there anything else you wanted to do while we’re here?” Will asks.

Mackenzie thinks a moment. “I really don’t have a clue about things to do in the area, so I’m not sure I’m equipped to answer that question.”

“Well, we could look at things to do here.”

“We could,” Mackenzie muses, but neither of them reach for their phones, tablet, or the informational booklet left in their room by hotel management. Will nudges her shoulder and she reaches for another Milk Dud.

Mackenzie’s not sure when, but at some point, she falls asleep. She half wakes when Will gets up, but she doesn’t notice when he comes back, and she wakes the next morning, on her side of the bed, with all their late night snack tidied away, the curtains closed, the TV off and the room tidy. Will is in bed next to her. He’s pretty close though, and he must have turned down the air in the room, because he has the blanket to his chin and Mackenzie has it just up to her waist and she’s perfectly happy with how warm she is. Sweet, thoughtful man.

Mackenzie leans up on an elbow to check her phone and see what the time is. She hasn’t even _thought_ about checking the news alerts since they got here, so she does that now, but nothing urgent has broken (and she’s pretty sure she would have got frantic phone calls if something had). She uses the toilet and debates about waking her husband. He seems really asleep and it _is_ early, and even though she’s hungry, she can wait for breakfast. She takes the remaining Milk Duds and her tablet and goes to sit in the early morning sun on the balcony.

It’s a couple of hours before Will wakes, stumbling sleepily out to join her, in nothing but his boxer shorts. The sun makes his blue eyes glow and Mackenzie spends a lot of time staring at him behind her sunglasses. When he wakes properly, and confesses he needs breakfast, they go down to the hotel buffet. After they eat, Mackenzie announces she wants a memento from the gift shop ( _the sand we’re going to be digging out of everywhere won’t be enough?_ Will asks glibly). Will goes upstairs to pack their things (no cylinders for him) and they meet again in the lobby so Will can check them out. He gives the tag for the car to the valet and as they stand waiting, he finally asks Mackenzie what she got for commemoration.

She gives him a coy smile and opens up her plastic carry bag and produces a small glass jar, filled with sand. Will takes it to have a closer look. It has a tiny tag on the bottom that denotes which beach it’s come from and then he laughs. “You mentioned sand,” Mackenzie says lightly.

Will gives it back to her as the car pulls up. “Perfect.” He tips the valet, and holds the door for his wife, before tossing their bag in the back and sliding into the driver’s seat. He puts on his seatbelt and then turns to Mackenzie, who is waiting on him. “Where to, Mrs McAvoy? Home?”

She gives him a smile that makes her eyes crinkle, “Not yet.”

“Then off into the horizon it is,” Will puts the car into drive and pulls out onto the street.


	50. Chapter 50

They get back to New York later in the evening. Not too late, so Mackenzie can go to bed and get enough sleep (although she feels so wonderfully rested, she’d be tempted to stay up all night talking to, or making out with, her husband). They drove for miles, avoiding the largest cities, as they wound their way home again. They stopped to eat at a roadside diner; fries and milkshakes (though Mackenzie later complained the combination made her stomach sore). They held hands while Will drove and they talked about decorating the baby’s room, buying the rest of the furniture, whether they should buy any clothes, given that lots of people on the baby websites attest to being given a ton (yet, they don’t know people with young children or babies anymore), and when they should start birthing classes. Mackenzie dozed for a while, holding her husband’s hand over the swell of the baby, until they stopped outside their apartment; finally home.

“When do you have to give the car back?” Mackenzie asks as they head into their bedroom. Will puts their bag on the bed and Mackenzie moves to unpack it right away.

“Tomorrow. Someone will come to get it.”

“Are you going to take it for one last spin?” She shoots him a grin over her shoulder as he walks around her for the bathroom.

Will shakes his head slightly and closes the door. Mackenzie takes out the gift for the baby, and the sand in its little jar, and puts them both on the tall boy that really doesn’t have anything in it (not with the smart wardrobe they had built), but is a place for her to put things. She plugs her phone in to charge, and hangs the dress she wore on the weekend, wondering if it needs cleaning. She dumps their dirty laundry in the basket and reaches up on her tip toes to put the duffle away on the top shelf of their walk in wardrobe. She hasn’t heard Will sneak in, but doesn’t startle when he presses up against her to help with the bag, reaching easily with his superior height. She murmurs her thanks to him and he cups her waist to kiss her softly.

“It seems cruel to have to go to work tomorrow,” Mackenzie sighs and leans against him, her arms snug around his waist, her hips leaning out to give space to the baby.

“Don’t go. Call in sick. We’ll play hooky.”

“You’re a terrible influence.”

“Come and take a shower,” Will says gently. “And then we’ll go to bed.”

Mackenzie looks up at him. “Are you going to join me?” She asks quietly.

“That was the plan,” he responds, just as soft. He gives her a quick kiss on the mouth and then reaches to tug her t-shirt off. Mackenzie lets him. He undoes her shorts too and slides them from her hips, but then he starts undressing himself, and takes her hand to guide her to the bathroom. He goes into the shower to turn both units on, changing the angles of the shower heads so they cross over a little. When he turns back to Mackenzie she notices the side of his head wet, water running down his neck and bare chest. She laughs and he grins at her. “Take your underwear off,” he growls good-naturedly.

Mackenzie strips off the rest of her clothing and beats him to the water. She turns up the heat a little and pulls a hairband from her wrist to tie up her hair. She feels Will at her back a second before he starts massaging her shoulders. “Oh _god,_ ” she groans. “That feels wonderful.”

Will doesn’t say anything, but thoroughly works her neck and shoulder muscles (firm, even pressure; he’s already well trained), making her feel liquid on her feet. She closes her eyes and feels the warmth of the water on her skin, an occasional flare of the cooler water from Will’s shower stream. She focuses on her breathing, on not falling asleep, and on Will’s thumbs.

“Lower?” He asks and she nods, almost whimpers as he works his way down her spine a few inches at a time, working his way out on either side so her entire back gets the same amount of attention. He finishes by pinching her ass. Mackenzie startles and turns with a glare.

“You ruined a perfectly adequate –”

“Adequate?” Will complains, even as she starts grinning and lifts her arms to wrap them around his neck. She tugs him down to kiss, tasting the freshness of shower water on his lips. His hands drop into the small of her back, holding on this time.

“It was lovely, thank you. This whole weekend has been such a wonderful thing,” Mackenzie softens her eyes at him. “I think we really needed it – _I_ needed it.”

Will leans down to kiss her again. “I had a good time.”

Mackenzie beams. “I’m glad.”

Will kisses her again. “I actually need to shower.”

Mackenzie steps away from him and Will adjusts his shower head to give them both a bit more space as they actually wash. Mackenzie finishes first and pinches Will’s ass on her way out. She dries off in the bathroom, then moves into the bedroom to put her pyjamas on. She hears the water cut out in the bathroom and goes back to brush her teeth. She steals furtive glances at his body in the large mirror as he dries himself behind her, seemingly oblivious to her gaze. He’s actually in pretty good shape, despite her teasing. And it does something for her.

Will goes to dress for bed. Mackenzie finishes with her teeth. Will starts on his, and she climbs beneath the bed covers. She checks the alarm is set on her phone (not that she really needs it, but better to be safe than sorry) and settles against the pillow. She looks over at the opposite wall, next to the walk-in wardrobe, where they put up her photo of Mir Samir (and then took it down because they changed their minds), and sees there’s another frame in its place now, instead of just blank olive wall. It’s small, about the size of – it’s a sonogram of the baby. A print of the most recent one. Mackenzie can see, even from the bed, the outline of the baby’s head and arms and legs. It’s the perfect place for it, even though it looks dwarfed by the rest of the bare wall. It’s ok though, she thinks. They can put other photos up around it. Pictures of the baby when he’s one, two, five, fifteen.

Mackenzie hears the light flick out in the bathroom, then Will opens the door and comes in. It’s a habit they’ve both gotten into, turning out the light before opening the door, so they don’t disturb the other, who is often asleep when the other is using the bathroom. The nightlight is on though, even though Mackenzie hasn’t gotten up in the night for several weeks now. Will pulls the door almost closed behind him, but leaves a strip of light that angles over the mattress. He goes around the bed to his side, checks his phone absently, then gets under the covers. He shifts over to where Mackenzie is laying on her side, waiting for him, and puts a hand on her hip. He leans down and gives her a press of his mouth and then draws back to lay against his pillow, his hand slipping free. Mackenzie fishes it up, and places it over the swell of her belly.

“Is he moving around?” Will asks softly.

“Mmm,” Mackenzie confirms. “It feels like… well… gas.” She laughs lightly and Will chuckles with her. “I love the photo.”

“Which photo?”

“The sonogram,” Mackenzie lifts her head slightly to look over at it. “It’s great there.” Will doesn’t say anything, and even though it’s still rather dark in the bedroom, Mackenzie can see he does look a little pleased with himself. Mackenzie closes her eyes, listening to the sound of them breathing and the quiet of the rest of the apartment.

“Are you feeling better now?” Will asks softly.

“From when?” She flutters her dark eyes open again.

“Friday?”

“Oh.” She pauses. “It _really_ was fine. I was just tired.”

“Ok, well, make sure you get enough sleep,” Will says and Mackenzie feels a flare of annoyance at the inane comment. Of course she always _intends_ to get enough sleep; isn’t that obvious? It wouldn’t make sense not to. But, after the beautiful weekend they’ve had away together, she’s in no mood for correcting him, pointing out the obvious, or picking a fight, as she so inevitably does. So she takes several steadying breaths and tries to think of something to respond with that won’t come out sounding bitchy. When she doesn’t answer for a while, Will adds. “You don’t have to wait for me after the show. You could just come home.”

“That’s probably a little _too_ early for me to go to bed,” Mackenzie notes, listening to the careful tones in his voice: he’s not trying to start something either. He’s concerned for her, and she really can’t fault that, can she? “I don’t mind waiting for you. I like to.” She rubs her fingers reassuringly against the back of his hand, the hand that’s still resting over the swell of their baby.

Will gives a soft ‘hm’, and even though neither says it aloud, they both think: we’d do better than picking a fight at eleven o’clock at night.

Mackenzie closes her eyes again and slips a finger between two of Will’s. He moves his hand from the bump of the baby to press their palms together. He squeezes her fingers and Mackenzie falls asleep that way, holding her husband’s hand, and their baby wiggling inside her, thinking of how different it will be after they see the counsellor and remember how to be with each other again. There’s an argument that love isn’t always enough, that it takes hard work to make a relationship successful, but she thinks that that’s wrong, because she loves Will enough to be willing to go to a counsellor with him. That’s all it takes, her loving him, because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t go.

They just have to hang in there for two more weeks. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't intend to break this story into two parts, but I found myself at chapter 50 feeling like it culminated in a natural break, that the story had gotten rather long, and that I hadn't written far enough ahead of where I was posting to feel comfortable (which is something I do, so that I can update regularly). So, as I'm sure you can figure by now, this story is: To Be Continued...
> 
> This is also the time to mention anything you'd like to see more of (or like to see less of), in regards to characters or scenes or themes or whatever.
> 
> I also want to express my gratitude to you for reading, for any comments or kudos left, and I really hope to see you around for the next chapter. Thank you.


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